The coming of David Salmon brought a new interest into Celia’s life. His acquaintance with her father formed a link of friendship between them; and from the first she looked upon him in a different light to the other young men she met at Mrs. Friedberg’s house. He went the very best way to work to win her affections, that he possibly could have done. Other young men paid her open and extravagant compliments; David did not, and Celia liked him all the better on that account, because she thought he was sincere. In conversation he was very careful to avoid the Yiddish expressions so prevalent amongst the people by whom they were surrounded; and although he was not able to be discursive on any subject except, perhaps, racing, of which she knew nothing, he managed to convey the idea that he knew a great deal more than he cared to say. He came to see the Friedbergs every evening regularly, and, if Celia were not downstairs, he nearly always found his way up to her sitting-room, with either Dinah or Victor to act as “gooseberry.”
Very soon Celia began to treat him with the same frank cordiality with which she had delighted Dr. Geoffrey Milnes; yet there was a subtile difference. Geoffrey was intellectual, and more than her match as far as brain-power went, but she dominated him completely. David Salmon, on the contrary, was her inferior in intellectual power, yet his assertive personality overruled hers. The mere touch of his hand sent a thrill through her whole being; and by word and look he contrived to instil into her that sense of affinity which is usually the basis of love. He soon managed to discover her likings and aversions, and made it a rule to ratify all that she said. He encouraged her to speak on those subjects on which she thought deeply, and responded in such a way that she felt that his was indeed a kindred spirit. “That’s how I feel!” was the exclamation most often on his lips, and the suspicion that he was not quite sincere never once crossed her mind.
If she could only have seen him, when, after a conversation in which, perhaps, she had almost laid bare her very soul, he went away to chuckle over her “moonshine,” and laugh in his sleeve at his cleverness in humouring her fancies, she would have been spared much heartache and bitterness. But, being absolutely true herself, she credited him with the same sincerity and depth of character, and made the fatal mistake of trusting him with her confidence.
On the Jewish New Year’s Day he called for her to go to synagogue. The day was quite a sultry one for late September, and Celia had donned a summer gown of soft grey voile, whilst a black Gainsboro’ hat set off her rich beauty to perfection. David felt quite proud as he escorted her down Maida Vale, and noted with satisfaction the admiring glances which were cast in her direction. Maida Vale seemed to be quite astir with gaily dressed people, apparently bent on the same errand as themselves, for they nearly all carried large prayerbooks. Celia glanced at them with some curiosity, for it was the first time that she had come across so many well-to-do Jews together. Most of the matrons were inclined to embonpoint, and wore a profusion of showy jewellery. Celia wondered why they spoke to each other as if they were all deaf, and what it was that was so peculiar in their intonation; it was not unlike the Cockney accent combined with a dash of nasal Yankee. She also observed a peculiarity in their gait and bearing,—a side-to-side movement, which was as odd as it was ungraceful. She was quite vexed with herself for noticing these things, but she could not help discovering that some Jewish people had mannerisms peculiarly their own.
A few little ragged urchins were loitering by the doors of the synagogue, watching the people as they entered.
“Them’s Jews,” Celia heard one of them say. “It must be their Passover.”
“Garn!” exclaimed another. “They have Passover at Easter. I spec’ it’s their Christmas.”
“Tain’t then,” put in a third with authority. “It’s their New Year. That little Jew boy as lives in Lisson Street told me so.”
“Well, then, I ain’t far out,” retorted the other sharply. “They must have had their Christmas last week. Christmas comes a week afore New Year, don’t it, stoopid?”
In the vestibule Celia and David parted, Celia to go upstairs to the ladies’ gallery, David to take his place in the body of the synagogue. Mrs. Friedberg and her girls had just arrived, and joined Celia at the top of the stairs. The service had commenced; and the minister was chanting some prayers in a sing-song monotone, whilst the congregation accompanied him with a subdued murmuring.