e was no mere
small-souled tradesman was abundantly evident when he brought them a
bottle of claret with the romantic recommendation that it had been grown
on Palestine soil, and that, in its passage from the wine-press to their
table here, it had never left the hands of his compatriots. He handled
the bottle with pride and certainly emotion, and begged them to accept
of it, and to allow him to fill their glasses. They were touched by the
invitation, though they were naturally unwilling to accept such a gift
from a poor man, but he understood their doubts and laughingly explained
that, as he did not possess a wine licence, he could not possibly accept
payment; a piece of reasoning which drew them into the laugh and
disposed of their hesitations.

They made him join them, however, and they drank to the prosperity of
the Palestine colonies, irrelevantly but charmingly coupling the toast
with that of their host and hostess, the children and the restaurant.
The other visitors smiled quietly, and, with conspicuous good breeding,
scarcely turned their eyes towards this convivial table, the Russian
conversing in an undertone with his daughter, and the musician with the
scholar.

And at the end the host did not give himself any false airs, but made
out their modest reckoning and handed Wyndham the change, all with the
same courtesy and with a distinction of manner which seemed to lift
trade to a higher plane than it occupies in Occidental prejudice. And as
the wife appeared hovering with a shy smile in the kitchen doorway, she
was invited to join the group, and warmly complimented on her culinary
skill. Then Lady Betty asked for the children, and presently their
bright faces were illumining the room with a warmer and sweeter light.
Wyndham and Lady Betty spoke to them a little, then Lady Betty slipped a
fragile ring with a single small fine pearl off her finger, and put it
on the girl's. The little thing blushed and hung down her head. But the
jewel became the tiny hand immensely. Meanwhile the boy's eyes were
glued on the books.

"I can see you like books, little man," said Wyndham.

"Yes, sir," said the child, "better than anything else."

"His ambition is to become a scholar," put in his father proudly.

"He is to have the Browning as a memento," said Lady Betty. She handed
it to the child. "Keep this volume carefully. When you are older, I am
sure you will love and treasure it." Then she unfastened her big bunch
of v