The two girls went downstairs arm-in-arm. Lottie seemed inclined to be very friendly, and showed her affection in a somewhat demonstrative manner.
As they were entering the dining-room, Mr. Friedberg passed in just before them, rubbing his hands dry from his ceremonial ablutions, and mumbling some prayers as he did so. Then he took some bread and dipped it in salt, whilst he said the Hebrew grace, after which he took his seat at the supper table. He was a short thick-set man with a grey beard; and he habitually wore a black velvet skull-cap.
The other members of the family sat down with a great deal of chatter, and minus the grace. Mrs. Friedberg immediately collared the eldest boy, Montie, and ungently pushed him out of the room.
“Go upstairs and wash your hands, you lazy young jackanapes!” she called out indignantly. “And take Victor with you, and ask Mary for a clean collar. How dare you come to table looking like chimney-sweeps! I am quite ashamed of them,” she added, turning to Celia, apologetically. “They give me more trouble than all the girls put together.”
She took her place at the head of the table, and began to carve some smoked beef; whilst Maud, her eldest unmarried daughter, who sat at the other end, served the boys to liberal helpings of cold fried fish.
There was very little resemblance between Maud and her mother, for Mrs. Friedberg was stout and florid, with prominent cheek-bones and a loud high-pitched voice. Maud, on the contrary, was thin, and of insignificant appearance. Her eyebrows receded from her eyes, and made her look as if she had once been surprised and had never quite recovered from it; and she was in the habit of going about with her mouth open.
Dinah, the youngest girl, was the prettiest of the bunch; for her eyes were large and expressive, and she could smile very naïvely on occasion. She had long cork-screw curls, which reached almost to her waist and were tied by a piece of ribbon. These curls were the plague of her life, for the boys could never resist the temptation to pull them whenever they approached her vicinity, and a quarrel nearly always ensued.
Celia sat between Victor and Lottie, much to the former’s discomfort, for he was shy and awkward in the presence of a stranger. Mrs. Friedberg watched him with the eyes of a ferret, and worried him with so many “don’ts” that the poor boy became quite flustered, and accidentally upset a glass of claret over Celia’s dress. His mother was furious, and broke into a tirade of wrath, though Celia assured her that her skirt was an old one, and that it was not of the slightest consequence. Victor subsided under the table, and boohooed lustily; and although Celia felt very sorry for him, she did not like to interfere.
She found the social amenities of family life a little bit trying at first, for she was so unused to anything of the sort. The Friedbergs as a family possessed exuberant spirits, and did not mind telling each other home-truths, which had the effect of making Celia feel exceedingly uncomfortable. She often thought they were quarrelling, when in reality they were only indulging in affectionate banter, but there had never been anything of the kind between her half-brother and herself, and she was not able to understand it.
As the meal progressed, she noticed that each piece of bread and butter which she transferred to her own plate, Lottie immediately turned over, with the buttered side downwards. Celia was quite mystified, until Lottie told her the reason after supper, when they were out for a stroll in the garden.