Other Things Being Equal [23]
invitation, but surprise was soon obliterated by another and quite different feeling, which she kept rigorously to herself. Mrs. Levice was in a dilemma about it, and consulted her husband in the evening.
"By all means, let her go," replied he; "why should you have had any misgivings about it? I am sure I am glad she is going."
"But, Jules, you forget that none of our Jewish friends allow their girls to go out with strangers."
"Is that part of our religion?"
"No; but custom is in itself a religion. People do talk so at every little innovation against convention."
"What will they say? Nothing detrimental either to Ruth or the doctor. Pshaw, Esther! You ought to feel proud that Dr. Kemp has asked the child. If she wishes to go, don't set an impossible bogy in the way of her enjoyment. Besides, you do not care to appear so silly as you would if you said to the doctor, 'I can't let her go on account of people's tongues,' and that is the only honest excuse you can offer." So in his manly, practical way he decided it.
On Saturday night Ruth stood in the drawing-room buttoning her pale suede glove. Kemp had not yet come in. She looked unusually well in her dull sage-green gown. A tiny toque of the same color rested on her soft dark hair. The creamy pallor of her face, the firm white throat revealed by the broad rolling collar, her grave lips and dreamy eyes, hardly told that she was feeling a little shy. Presently the bell rang, and Kemp came in, his open topcoat revealing his evening dress beneath. He came forward hastily.
"I am a little late," he said, taking her hand, "but it was unavoidable. Ten minutes to eight," looking at his watch; "the horses must make good time."
"It is slightly chilly to-night, is it not?" asked Ruth, for want of something better to say as she turned for her wrap.
"I did not feel it," he replied, intercepting her. "But this furry thing will keep the cold off, if there is any," he continued, as he held it for her, and quite unprofessionally bent his head to hook it at her throat. A strange sensation shot through Ruth as his face approached so close her own.
"How are your mother and father?" He asked, holding the door open, while she turned for her fan, thus concealing a slight embarrassment.
"They are as usual," she answered. "Father expects to see you after the play. You will come in for a little supper, will you not?"
"That sounds alluring," he responded lightly, his quick eye remarking, as she came toward him, the dainty femininity of her loveliness, that seemed to have caught a grace beyond the reach of art.
It thus happened that they took their places just as the curtain rose.
Chapter IX
Everybody remembers the sad old comedy, as differently interpreted in its graver sentiment as there are different interpreters. Ruth had seen one who made of Shylock merely a fawning, mercenary, loveless, blood-thirsty wretch. She had seen another who presented a man of quick wit, ready tongue, great dignity, greater vengeance, silent of love, wordy of hate. Booth, without throwing any romantic glamour on the Jew, showed him as God and man, but mostly man, had made him: an old Jew, grown bitter in the world's disfavor through fault of race; grown old in strife for the only worldly power vouchsafed him, --gold; grown old with but one human love to lighten his hard existence; a man who, at length, shorn of his two loves through the same medium that robbed him of his manly birthright, now turned fiend, endeavors with tooth and nail to wreak the smouldering vengeance of a lifetime upon the chance representative of an inexorable persecution.
All through the performance Ruth sat a silent, attentive listener. Kemp, with his ready laugh at Gratiano's sallies, would turn a quick look at her for sympathy; he was rather surprised at the grave, unsmiling face beside him. When, however, the old Jew staggered alone and almost blindly from the triumphantly smiling court-room, a little pinch on his arm decidedly startled him.
He lowered his glass and turned
"By all means, let her go," replied he; "why should you have had any misgivings about it? I am sure I am glad she is going."
"But, Jules, you forget that none of our Jewish friends allow their girls to go out with strangers."
"Is that part of our religion?"
"No; but custom is in itself a religion. People do talk so at every little innovation against convention."
"What will they say? Nothing detrimental either to Ruth or the doctor. Pshaw, Esther! You ought to feel proud that Dr. Kemp has asked the child. If she wishes to go, don't set an impossible bogy in the way of her enjoyment. Besides, you do not care to appear so silly as you would if you said to the doctor, 'I can't let her go on account of people's tongues,' and that is the only honest excuse you can offer." So in his manly, practical way he decided it.
On Saturday night Ruth stood in the drawing-room buttoning her pale suede glove. Kemp had not yet come in. She looked unusually well in her dull sage-green gown. A tiny toque of the same color rested on her soft dark hair. The creamy pallor of her face, the firm white throat revealed by the broad rolling collar, her grave lips and dreamy eyes, hardly told that she was feeling a little shy. Presently the bell rang, and Kemp came in, his open topcoat revealing his evening dress beneath. He came forward hastily.
"I am a little late," he said, taking her hand, "but it was unavoidable. Ten minutes to eight," looking at his watch; "the horses must make good time."
"It is slightly chilly to-night, is it not?" asked Ruth, for want of something better to say as she turned for her wrap.
"I did not feel it," he replied, intercepting her. "But this furry thing will keep the cold off, if there is any," he continued, as he held it for her, and quite unprofessionally bent his head to hook it at her throat. A strange sensation shot through Ruth as his face approached so close her own.
"How are your mother and father?" He asked, holding the door open, while she turned for her fan, thus concealing a slight embarrassment.
"They are as usual," she answered. "Father expects to see you after the play. You will come in for a little supper, will you not?"
"That sounds alluring," he responded lightly, his quick eye remarking, as she came toward him, the dainty femininity of her loveliness, that seemed to have caught a grace beyond the reach of art.
It thus happened that they took their places just as the curtain rose.
Chapter IX
Everybody remembers the sad old comedy, as differently interpreted in its graver sentiment as there are different interpreters. Ruth had seen one who made of Shylock merely a fawning, mercenary, loveless, blood-thirsty wretch. She had seen another who presented a man of quick wit, ready tongue, great dignity, greater vengeance, silent of love, wordy of hate. Booth, without throwing any romantic glamour on the Jew, showed him as God and man, but mostly man, had made him: an old Jew, grown bitter in the world's disfavor through fault of race; grown old in strife for the only worldly power vouchsafed him, --gold; grown old with but one human love to lighten his hard existence; a man who, at length, shorn of his two loves through the same medium that robbed him of his manly birthright, now turned fiend, endeavors with tooth and nail to wreak the smouldering vengeance of a lifetime upon the chance representative of an inexorable persecution.
All through the performance Ruth sat a silent, attentive listener. Kemp, with his ready laugh at Gratiano's sallies, would turn a quick look at her for sympathy; he was rather surprised at the grave, unsmiling face beside him. When, however, the old Jew staggered alone and almost blindly from the triumphantly smiling court-room, a little pinch on his arm decidedly startled him.
He lowered his glass and turned