“That is the most sensible way. How many quarrels would be averted if we could only laugh!” She sighed, and added regretfully: “I shall be sorry to leave Jerusalem. It is the most wonderful little city in the world.”
She would not tell him how much she dreaded the return to Haifa, but the fact remained. Here, in Mrs. Engelmacher’s house, she had been comparatively free from the obligations of the Jewish ceremonial, but when she took up the domestic reins once more, the responsibility would again devolve upon her shoulders. Lady Montella had been careful to train her in the right way, and hitherto she had responded with a certain degree of enthusiasm; indeed, she had been so anxious to do the correct thing that she had sometimes done more than was absolutely necessary. Now all was changed. She felt that she could no longer show spontaneity in the duties of a Jewish housewife, even though she meant to perform them conscientiously for her husband’s sake; and she feared the keenly perceptive powers of her mother-in-law, who almost seemed able to read one’s thoughts. The Premier’s words to her on her wedding-day recurred with new and added force. She had thought so lightly of her apostasy at the time; she could see the reprehensibility and gravity of her action now.
It was Sunday afternoon—their last Sunday in Jerusalem—and she had promised to go to the hospice for tea. The Engelmachers were expecting friends in the evening, and she was not sorry to obtain leave of absence; but her husband, on whose account the company had been invited, was obliged to remain. She found the Princess in the pretty hospice drawing-room surrounded by a little group of admirers, whilst a good-looking curate from Devonshire obligingly handed round the tea.
The scene was in marked contrast to the glaring Orientalism without. Patricia felt as if she had been suddenly transported to a homely English vicarage, and experienced an indefinable sense of comfort at the thought. The Bishop was in the midst of one of his innumerable anecdotes, and was dilating on the humorous vagaries of a certain Scotch gillie; but he paused at the most interesting point of the story in order to fetch the new-comer a chair.
“Sit down here, Lady Patricia,” he said genially. “You will be able to get a breath of air from the window.”
And then he resumed his account of the golf-loving Tammas, to the amusement, if not the edification of his friendly audience.
“We are all going to St. George’s this evening,” the Princess informed her, when a momentary lull in the conversation occurred. “You don’t mind coming, do you, Pat? The Bishop has been asked to preach.”
“I shall be very glad,” the girl answered promptly. “It is such a long, long time since I went to church; I have almost forgotten what the service is like. But I wonder if Lionel would object? I hardly like to go without his knowledge.”
The Princess looked dubious.
“I should think he is too broad-minded to object,” she said thoughtfully. “However, you must do just as you like; I don’t want Lionel to tell me that I have led you astray.”