'Miss Ansell will help you, I know,' said Goldsmith cheerily; 'that girl's got it in her, I can tell you. She'll take the shine out of some of our West-Enders. Do you know, I picked her out of the gutter, so to speak?'
'Yes, I know,' said Raphael. 'It was very good and discriminating of you. How is she?'
'She's all right; come up and see her about doing something for you. She goes to the Museum sometimes in the afternoons, but you'll always find her in on Sundays—or most Sundays. Come up and dine with us again soon, will you? Mrs. Goldsmith will be so pleased.'
'I will,' said Raphael fervently; and when the door closed upon the communal pillar, he fell to striding feverishly about his little den.
His trust in human nature was restored, and the receding wave of scepticism bore off again the image of Esther Ansell. Now to work for Judaism!
The sub-editor made his first appearance that day, carolling joyously.
'Sampson,' said Raphael abruptly, 'your salary is raised by a guinea a week.'
The joyous song died away on Little Sampson's lips; his eye-glass dropped; he let himself fall backwards, impinging noiselessly upon a heap of 'returns' of number one.