“Why didn’t you bring your comrade, Mr. Hetzel?” she asked.
“Oh, Hetzel, he’s got an examination on his hands, you know, and has perforce become a recluse—obliged to spend his evenings wading through the students’ papers,” explained Arthur, in a tone of sepulchral melancholy.
Mrs. Hart tried to manufacture conversation. Arthur responded absent-mindedly. Neither alluded to Mrs. Lehmyl. Arthur, fearing to appear discourteous, endeavored to behave as though it was to profit by Mrs. Hart’s society alone that he had called. His voice, notwithstanding, kept acquiring a more and more lugubrious quality. But, by and by, when the flame of hope had dwindled to a spark, a second rustling of silk became audible. With a heart-leap that for a moment rendered him dumb, he heard a sweet voice say, “Good evening, Mr. Ripley.” He lifted his eyes, and saw Mrs. Lehmyl standing before him, smiling and proffering her hand. Silently cursing his embarrassment, he possessed himself of the hand, and stammered out some sort of a greeting. There was a magic about that hand of hers. As he touched it, an electric tingle shot up his arm.
All three found chairs. Mrs. Hart produced a bag of knitting. One of the cats established himself in Mrs. Lehmyl’s lap, and went to sleep. The other rubbed up against Arthur’s knee, purring confidentially. Arthur cudgeled his wits for an apt theme. At last he got bravely started.
“What a fine-looking old fellow that Mr. Lipman was,” he said. “It isn’t often that one sees a face like his in America.”
“No—not among the Americans of English blood; they haven’t enough temperamental richness,” acquiesced Mrs. Lehmyl.
“Yes, that’s so. The most interesting faces one encounters here belong to foreigners—especially to the Jews. Mr. Lipman, you know, is a Jew.”
“Naturally, being Mrs. Berle’s brother.”
“It’s rather odd, Mrs. Lehmyl, but the more I see of the Jews, the better I like them. Aside from the interest they possess as a phenomenon in history, they’re very agreeable to me as individuals. I can’t at all comprehend the prejudice that some people harbor against them.”
“How very liberal,” If there was a shade of irony in her tone, it failed of its effect upon Arthur, who, inspired by his subject, went gallantly on: