'Forgive me,' she said. 'Remember, my conceptions of orthodoxy are drawn mainly from the Ghetto, where cleanliness, so far from being next to godliness, is nowhere in the vicinity. But what can I do for you?'
'I don't know. At present the staff—the Flag-staff, as Sidney calls it—consists of myself and a sub-editor, who take it in turn to translate the only regular outside contributor's articles into English.'
'Who's that?'
'Melchitzedek Pinchas, the poet I told you of.'
'I suppose he writes in Hebrew?'
'No; if he did the translation would be plain-sailing enough. The trouble is that he will write in English. I must admit, though, he improves daily. Our correspondents, too, have the same weakness for the vernacular, and I grieve to add that when they do introduce a Hebrew word, they do not invariably spell it correctly.'
She smiled; her smile was never so fascinating as by firelight.
Raphael rose and paced the room nervously, flinging out his arms in uncouth fashion to emphasise his speech.
'I was thinking you might introduce a secular department of some sort which would brighten up the paper. My articles are so plaguy dull.'
'Not so dull—for religious articles,' she assured him.