"I? Not enjoying his troubles; I enjoyed Booth, though,--if you can call it enjoyment when your heart is ready to break for him. Were you there?

I did not see you."

"No, I don't suppose you did, or you would have been in the pitiable condition of the princess who had her head turned. I sat directly back of your box, in the dress-circle. Then you like Booth?"

"Take care! That is a dangerous subject with my family," broke in Mrs.

Levice. "Ruth has actually exhausted every adjective in her admiration vocabulary. The last extravaganza I heard from her on that theme was after she had seen him as Brutus; she wished herself Lucius, that in the tent scene she might kiss Booth's hand."

"It sounds gushing enough for a school-girl now," laughed Ruth merrily, looking up at the doctor; "but at the time I meant it."

"Have you seen him in all his impersonations?" he asked.

"In everything but 'Shylock.'"

"You will have a chance for that on Sat.u.r.day night. It will be a great farewell performance."

"Undoubtedly, but I shall have to forego that last glimpse of him."

"Now, Doctor," cried Mrs. Levice, "will you please impress it on her that I am not a lunatic and can be left alone without fear? She wishes to go Sat.u.r.day night, but refuses to go with her father on the ground that I shall be left alone, as Mr. Arnold is out of town. Is not that being unnecessarily solicitous?"

"Without doubt. But," he added, turning deferentially to Ruth, "in lieu of a better escort, how would I do, Miss Levice?"

"I do not understand."

"Will you come with me Sat.u.r.day night to see 'Shylock'?"

To be candid, Ruth was embarra.s.sed. The doctor had said neither "will you honor me" nor "will you please me," but he had both pleased and honored her. She turned a pair of radiant eyes to her mother. "Come now, Mrs. Levice," laughed Kemp, noting the action, "will you allow your little girl to go with me? Do not detain me with a refusal; it will be impossible to accept one now, and I shall not be around till then, you know. Good-morning."

Unwittingly, the doctor had caused an excitement in the hearts both of mother and daughter. The latter was naturally surprised at his unexpected 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 Sat.u.r.day night Ruth stood in the drawing-room b.u.t.toning 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 embarra.s.sment.

"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 G.o.d 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 gla.s.s and turned round on her so suddenly that Ruth started.

"Oh," she faltered, "I--I beg your pardon; I had forgotten you were not Louis."

"I do not mind in the least," he a.s.sured her easily.

The last act pa.s.ses merrily and quickly; only the severe, great things of life move slowly.

As the doctor and Ruth made their way through the crowded lobby, the latter thought she had never seen so many acquaintances, each of whom turned an interested look at her stalwart escort. Of this she was perfectly aware, but the same human interest with which Kemp's acquaintances regarded her pa.s.sed by her unnoticed.

A moment later they were in the fresh, open air.

"How beautiful it is!" said Ruth, looking up at the stars. "The wind has entirely died away."

"'On such a night,'" quoth Kemp, as they approached the curb, "a closed carriage seems out of season."

"And reason," supplemented Ruth, while the doctor opened the door rather slowly. She glanced at him hesitatingly.

"Would you--" she began.

"Right! I would!" The door was banged to.

"John," he said, looking up at his man in the box, "take this trap round to the stable; I shall not need the horses again to-night."

John touched his hat, and Kemp drew his companion's little hand through his arm.

"Well," he said, as they turned the corner, "Were you satisfied with the great man to-night?"

"Yes," she replied meditatively, "fully; there was no exaggeration,--it was all quite natural."

"Except Jessica in boy's clothes."

"Don't mention her, please; I detest her."