Patricia paced the room in agitation.
“I thought you loved my Cousin Chesterwood,” she said. “I did not think you would be faithless to his memory so soon.”
“You have no right to use the word ‘faithless,’” the Countess returned, with a touch of hauteur. “I made Chesterwood a true wife while he lived; I have nothing to reproach myself with where he is concerned. But I have always had the desire for power. I am tired of being a mere society puppet with a coronet. As wife of the Prime Minister I should shine in a manner after my own heart. There is a certain fascination in helping to pull the wires which govern the State.”
“You would help to accomplish the downfall of Lionel Montella’s race?” said Patricia, her face hardening. “I had thought our friendship was tried and true, Mamie; but it seems that, like everything else, it is only transient, seeing that you are so willing to relinquish it.”
“Nonsense! You are too much given to high-falutin’, Pat. Be sensible. Why should the Premier’s wife be considered unworthy of your friendship?”
“It is not a case of ‘unworthiness’ at all. The Premier is the enemy of my future husband and of his co-religionists. If you marry him, it is not possible that you can still be my greatest friend. There can be no intercourse between your house and mine. Do you not understand? Mr. Moore would probably forbid you to visit or receive me, and Lionel would have to do the same.”
“I do not quite see it,” the Countess returned obdurately. “Politics need not interfere with a private and personal friendship. I think you exaggerate the matter, my dear. Why, I might even influence Moore on behalf of Montella’s cause. I might be the saviour of Judaism, and receive the thanks of every Jew in the kingdom. Instead of becoming your enemy, I might prove myself in very truth your friend.”
Her eyes glistened at the picture her imagination had painted. She would prove what a tremendous influence a woman could have over a man, and how her feminine will, as frail as gossamer, yet as strong as iron, could decide the destiny of a whole race. Here would be something worth accomplishing, a feat at least worthy of the attempt. To subjugate the invincible will of Athelstan Moore! Her face glowed with a foretaste of the charm of such a battle.
Patricia was doubtful, but her features relaxed. She wondered if the Countess, whose nature she had always considered somewhat shallow, would have the strength of purpose to fulfil her words. If she could succeed, what a glorious victory it would be! The thought caused her heart to leap and her eyes to deepen. She paused in front of her dead cousin’s wife, and held out her hands.
“Would you do this, Mamie?” she asked, in a tense voice. “Would you really espouse our cause? Oh, it would be so grand, so blessed a thing! Read the history of the Jews, and you will see what a long-suffering people they are, surely more sinned against than sinning. It is we who are to blame—we Gentiles, who, in the name of Christianity, have persecuted them throughout the ages, who have inflicted on them the tortures of the Inquisition, who have denied them the rights accorded to other civilised beings. The Jews are the elder brothers of the human race, and to hate them is to hate the God who made them. Long before Greece and Rome held sway over the world, they had their kings, warriors, poets, and philosophers. Has there ever been in the world’s history a greater king and philosopher than Solomon, a greater warrior than Judas the Maccabee, a greater poet than the Psalmist, a greater athlete than Samson, a greater Christian than Paul the Apostle?—and all these men were Jews. Oh, if you could only make Athelstan Moore and his followers see the uselessness and iniquity of anti-Semitism, you would do a work which would endear you to the hearts of hundreds! But will you do it? Have you the power to carry out your determination? Have you the moral courage to risk incurring the disapproval of society? It is no trivial matter. Think—think what it means!”