While he was disposing of it, she poked the fire into a big cheerful blaze, seating herself opposite him in a capacious arm-chair, where the flame picked her out in bright tints upon the dusky background of the great dim room.
"And how is The Flag of Judah?" she said.
"Still waving," he replied. "It is about that that I have come."
"About that?" she said wonderingly. "Oh, I see; you want to know if the one person it is written at has read it. Well, make your mind easy. I have. I have read it religiously—No, I don't mean that; yes, I do; it's the appropriate word."
"Really?" He tried to penetrate behind the bantering tone.
"Yes, really. You put your side of the case eloquently and well. I look forward to Friday with interest. I hope the paper is selling?"
"So, so," he said. "It is uphill work. The Jewish public looks on journalism as a branch of philanthropy, I fear, and Sidney suggests publishing our free-list as a 'Jewish Directory.'"
She smiled. "Mr. Graham is very amusing. Only, he is too well aware of it. He has been here once since that dinner, and we discussed you. He says he can't understand how you came to be a cousin of his, even a second cousin. He says he is L'Homme qui rit, and you are L'Homme qui prie."
"He has let that off on me already, supplemented by the explanation that every extensive Jewish family embraces a genius and a lunatic. He admits that he is the genius. The unfortunate part for me," ended Raphael, laughing, "is, that he is a genius."
"I saw two of his little things the other day at the Impressionist
Exhibition in Piccadilly. They are very clever and dashing."