"What's this about a new Jewish paper?" said Mrs. Goldsmith, suddenly appearing in front of them with her large genial smile. "Is that what you two have been plotting? I noticed you've laid your heads together all the evening. Ah well, birds of a feather flock together. Do you know my little Esther took the scholarship for logic at London? I wanted her to proceed to the M.A. at once, but the doctor said she must have a rest." She laid her hand affectionately on the girl's hair.
Esther looked embarrassed.
"And so she is still a Bachelor," said Raphael, smiling but evidently impressed.
"Yes, but not for long I hope," returned Mrs. Goldsmith. "Come, darling, everybody's dying to hear one of your little songs."
"The dying is premature," said Esther. "You know I only sing for my own amusement."
"Sing for mine, then," pleaded Raphael.
"To make you laugh?" queried Esther. "I know you'll laugh at the way I play the accompaniment. One's fingers have to be used to it from childhood—"
Her eyes finished the sentence, "and you know what mine was."
The look seemed to seal their secret sympathy.
She went to the piano and sang in a thin but trained soprano. The song was a ballad with a quaint air full of sadness and heartbreak. To Raphael, who had never heard the psalmic wails of "The Sons of the Covenant" or the Polish ditties of Fanny Belcovitch, it seemed also full of originality. He wished to lose himself in the sweet melancholy, but Mrs. Goldsmith, who had taken Esther's seat at his side, would not let him.