“Their past, you know, is so poetic. They have the warmth of old wine in their blood. I’ve seen a great deal of them. This neighborhood is a regular ghetto. Then down-town I rub elbows with them constantly. Indeed, my best client is a Jew. And my friend, Hetzel, he’s of Jewish extraction, though he doesn’t keep up with the religion. On the average, I think the Jews are the kindest-hearted and clearest-minded people one meets hereabouts. That Mr. Lipman was a specimen of the highest type. It was delightful to watch his face, when you and he were playing—so fervent, so unselfconscious.”
“And he played capitally, too—caught the true spirit of the music.”
“So it seemed to me, though of course, I’m not competent to criticise. Speaking of faces, Mrs. Lehmyl, I hope you won’t mind me saying that your face does not look to me like and American—I mean English-American.”
“There is no reason why it should. I’m not’ English-American.”
“Ah, I felt sure of it. I felt sure you had Italian blood in your veins.”
“No—nor Italian either.”
“Well, Spanish, then?”
“Why, I supposed you knew. I—I am a Jewess.”
“Mercy!” gasped Arthur, blushing to the roots of his hair. “I hope—I hope you—” He broke off, and squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.
“Why, is it possible you didn’t know it?” asked Mrs. Lehmyl.