“Patricia is of age and able to decide for herself,” he said, with an air of nonchalance. “As she makes her bed, so must she lie upon it—that is all.”
“But it is such a disgrace,” persisted Moore, determined on carrying his point. “It is a case which will excite public comment, and therefore is not merely a personal matter. For the sake of example it ought not to be allowed.”
The Earl’s face was impassive.
“What is it you object to?” he asked. “The race or the religion?”
“Both, though if Montella dropped his Judaism it would not be so bad. But Montella never will; the matter will be solved by your daughter joining the Jewish Church. That is where the disgrace comes in—for a woman in these days of grace to voluntarily go back to the religion of the pre-Christian Era, to fling away the Christianity which has done more than anything else to civilise the world. Why, it’s absolutely ridiculous. She might just as well put away her modern dress, education, and culture. I have never known such an absurd thing in my life.”
“I am afraid my daughter is angry with Christianity just now,” said the Earl imperturbably, “since it is used as a cloak to cover the persecution of the Jews. She thinks the end does not justify the means.”
“Nonsense! she does not understand anything at all about it. The rulers of the State have to look far ahead; what we legislate now is for the benefit of the future generations. It is surely better that these people should be expelled than that the whole nation should suffer later on.”
He paced up and down the room, his face crimson with indignation. He could have shaken the noble Earl for being so dense as not to see the enormity of the situation. He continued to harangue him for another forty minutes, until the Earl was so weary that he promised faithfully to insist on the dissolution of the betrothal. Then just as he was about to conclude his remarks, the door opened to admit the happy—or unhappy—pair. To the Premier their appearance was most opportune.
They both bowed to the visitor, but neither attempted to shake hands. Patricia, forgetting that he was Mamie Chesterfield’s fiancé, saw in him only the virulent Jew-hater, and could not bring herself to give him a friendly greeting, even though at this particular moment she felt at peace with all the world. Montella looked unusually flushed, but the anxious expression which had been his of late had vanished, and there was an eager glow in his eyes. He took not the slightest notice of the Premier’s glance of hatred, and stood by his sweetheart’s side with an air of self-possession. He knew, without requiring to be told, that the visit of his enemy was in some way connected with himself; but an event had happened which caused him to view this visit with equanimity almost amounting to unconcern.
The day was raw and cold, but Patricia was dressed in the palest shade of grey, the delicate appearance of which was enhanced by the choice white flowers at her breast and attached to her ermine muff. She looked so fair and radiant, that Athelstan Moore’s indignation increased, and he determined yet again that this beautiful girl should not be lost to England and the Church by becoming Montella’s bride. He asked for an interview with her and her father, minus the presence of her lover; but to this request the girl refused to accede. She was quite willing to listen to whatever the Premier might wish to say, but it must be said before Mr. Montella or not at all.