With relief I spoke of Mr. Garvin—relief because I did not share Miss Pride’s prejudice and while neither did I feel strongly partisan towards Jews, the subject always embarrassed me because, not being able to detect Hebraic blood at once except in a most obvious face, I was afraid that someone’s toes were being trod on. And even here in Miss Pride’s sitting-room where there was no one to be offended (unless I myself were partly Jewish, a not unlikely possibility), I disliked the openness of the attack because, by my ambiguous silence I was no doubt giving her the impression that I subscribed to her view, and later on, when a Jew was present, she might call upon me to confirm some anti-Semitic statement.

She was inordinately interested in what I told her of Mr. Garvin because, through my desire to hasten from the Jewish question, I exaggerated the scraps of information I had gathered about him through his conversation with Preis, and told her that he was a student of Japanese even though I had been corrected by the boy himself. “What a small world we have,” said Miss Pride, beaming with pleasure. “To think that one of your first acquaintances in Boston should have the same inspiration that my father had. Perhaps he would like to look over the books here. Is he a presentable young man or is he one of those brainy people, like Hope’s artists who don’t wash very well?” On the contrary, I told her, Garvin was, if anything, overwashed. His tanned, freshly shaved face had been as clean as a baby’s; his dark blue suit and his white shirt, his blue cashmere tie and matching socks were so fresh from the cleaner and the laundress that he could have posed, with no subsequent touching-up on the part of the photographer, for an advertisement of Miss Pride’s White Cloud soap. “And what is his background?” she asked me next, but I could not satisfy her. “Berthe will know, I suppose. We might ask him to dine with us some evening. I don’t want to deprive you of all society, you know, but at the same time I don’t want you to drift away from me.”

“Oh, I can assure you,” I laughed, “that Mr. Garvin and I didn’t strike up an acquaintance at all.” Actually I did hope that I would see the young man again but only because I was inquisitive to know what sort of friends Nathan had.

“The Countess gave me a surprising piece of news. She says you’re sharp as a tack on the subject of French literature. How in the world did you come by that?”

“She’s quite mistaken. I know nothing about it . . . I . . .”