“You never did like him,” her mother remarked; “but then you’ve not got to marry him, so it doesn’t matter. He seems affable enough, I think. Have you any reason for your dislike?”
“Only that the Montellas do not approve of his family. Harry Levi’s father waxed fat over the Consolidated Trust concern, and Lionel says that Harry himself is not over-scrupulous. Lionel Montella would not say a thing like that unless there were good reason.”
Mrs. Emanuel regarded her contemplatively.
“You seem to think a great deal of Lionel Montella,” she rejoined. “You always talk about him as if he were a prophet or a prince. I shall not be at all surprised when I hear that he has fallen in love with you and asked you to marry him. Well, it would be a great simcha[[2]] for us, I am sure. The Jewish Chronicle would give you a notice—‘A marriage has been arranged between Mr. Lionel Selim Montella, M.P., only son of Sir Julian and Lady Selim Montella, and Miss Raie Emanuel, eldest daughter of Mrs. Joshua Emanuel, late of Liverpool.’ Wouldn’t it make the Canonbury people sit up, eh? Instead of Mrs. Abrahams snubbing me like she does, she would come and implore me to attend her next dinner-party; and I would say—‘So sorry: I’ve promised to dine with dear Lady Montella.’”
[2]. Joy.
Raie put up her hand, as though to stay her mother’s garrulity.
“Mamma!” she exclaimed, her cheeks tingling, “I wish you would not talk like that. It’s so vul—so horrid. I would not marry Lionel Montella, even if he asked me, because I do not consider myself fitted to become his wife. As he will not ask me, however, I shall be saved the trouble of declining. Have you not heard that he is engaged to Lady Patricia Byrne?”
“What!” Mrs. Emanuel sat bolt upright. “This is news, indeed. Who is Lady Patricia What’s-her-name? A Jewess?”
“No; a—Christian—the daughter of Earl Torrens—gloriously beautiful, and with a face like a Greuze. She is far more suitable as a wife for Mr. Montella than a plain, insignificant little creature like myself could ever be.”
There was nothing either of mock modesty or bitterness in her words. She knew that she was small and slight, with ordinary features and ordinary abilities. She did not know that when she spoke her eyes sparkled with animation, and that the sweetness of her smile amply compensated for the irregularity of her features. She did not know either that there was a naïveté about her manner which endeared her to those with whom she came into contact. Perhaps, had she known, the charm would no longer have been there.