It was possible that when her father's steamer stopped to pay sea-rent, Hogarth might have heard, and seized him. That notion occurred to her.
And at once it threw her into an extraordinary fever, her bosom swelling like elastic in her heavings to catch breath, though she did not realize the wild thought that was working up to birth within her. She rose and paced, furiously fast.
If he was in the hands of Hogarth?
“He is a British subject”, she muttered: “Hogarth has not the right...Oh, he has not the right...!”
She was fearfully agitated! something fighting up and up within her, stifling her, working to burst into birth; she flung the cashmire from her shoulders, her bosom rowing like two oarsmen. “Because we are Jews...!” she went.
“If he dared do that—!”
What then? Say! Rebekah!
“I would go to him myself—”
All at once that thought was born, and she stood shockingly naked to her own eyes, her hands rushing to cover a face washed in shame. “But, surely”, she whispered, “I could never be so bold, good Heavens? Why, Never! Never—!”
However, an hour later, with flaming eyes, she was writing a letter to Frankl's manager.