193
April 1930
T h e . K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
very “return of the Jew to his land” in which she was interested! Constance and Cousin Elizabeth dined that evening with the “elderly sister-in-law.” It was evident at once to Connie that here was a Personage, indeed! She possessed that something that is known as “the grand manner,” ana Constance rather enjoyed the experience of being toned down, held in check, and charmed all at once, by the dig nity and perfection of demeanor of this grande dame. She contrasted her with some of the artificial women with whom the dining-room was crowded; and, too, with the sprinkling of good homespun folk, going over for the first time, excited over what they were to see and to buy in that old world whence comes our race. At one table near by was a party of four. They were large, heavy indi viduals, whose rolling r ’s, and flat a’s, and guileless enjoy ment of everything, from the gilt decorations in the lounges to the “nice polite stewards” on deck, proclaimed them provincial. Connie quite beamed upon them. They at least were genuine Americanst She realized that many of the others were trying, to appear to be what this great lady actually, really was. “ Why do, they try so hard?” Constance wondered. “They deceive no one who is really worth while. All this adopted ‘giacial reserve’ is not, cannot be genuine.” And she suddenly remembered hearing a distinguished coun tryman say: “The true American gentlewoman is known by her graciousness. She is altogether approachable! It is absurd for Americans to ape certain Europeans. We have a dif ferent history and a different background. Let us be true to our rugged and honorable ancestors.” Constance had but little time for reflection that eve ning, however, for it became increasingly evident that this interesting great one was very much delighted with the young American girl. The new life and faith and joy into which she had entered had put starry lights into Con stance’ gray eyes, and a fresh sparkle into her whole personality. “How have her family kept her so unspoiled ?” Madame asked in a low tone,, of Cousin Elizabeth; while the orchestra played loudly. “Such naivete! Natural and fragrant, is she not, like the roses! I have been wondering what you Americans were thinking of, while I was in your great country, as I watched your young women with their negligent manners, their excessive use of rouge and ciga rette, and their folly in losing that attribute which makes feminine attraction to fail not, through the years—woman liness-! Your masculine girls are an enormity.” Constance heard the last. “Don’t you believe in ten nis??’ she inquired. “I have to have my tennis!” “Non, non, ma petite! I, too, approve of your splen did out-of-door life—that, assuredly, does not interfere with womanliness, or with keeping one’s self lovely and lovable.” “You must let me have her a while, in Paris,” she said later to Cousin Elizabeth, who gave pleased assent and reflected much upon the satisfaction of Constance’ mother over the opportunities--of meeting and knowing some of the world’s great ones which -this would bring about, “Who are they?” asked Constance, when they were alone; and she gasped a little when Cousin Elizabeth had told her their illustrious name. “Oh, those—why, I thought they were partly Jewish! But surely Madame—” “No! She is the sister-in-law, and also a Gentile. Yes,” laughing, “a genteel Gentile! Not a door in the
“Your aunt, Mrs. Pepper, is talking with my elderly sister-in-law, whose husband will remain below until the ship’s engines have ceased to vibrate. She has given me leave to recall to you that I knew your father and mother when you were very little, in the old Paris that we loved, before the Great War. Now have mercy on my four-days- old curiosity and show me that little volume you are holding.” Constance held up the pocket New Testament she car ried with her. “I am always reading it because it is almost entirely new to me,” she explained. “To me it is indeed a NEW Testament. I might as well have been brought up in heathen lands, as far as my knowledge of it is concerned.” He nodded his head in a slow, stately acquiescence, and Connie instantly realized that his agreeing or not agreeing with one’s opinions, was a matter of great im portance to very many people, somewhere in that Europe to which they were going. And then, after the manner of her Cousin Althea, she lifted her heart to the Lord, who was the living Word, asking Him to use her and to help her say the right and wise thing to this impressive Personage, upon whose face some old agony, long endured, had left such a deep impress: “The forefathers of all that is now called ‘Christen dom’,” he was saying, “have already absorbed your book’s teachings, and made it part of the race. We must carry on where they left off.” He was looking out over the toss ing, waters as he spoke. Constance knew from her talks with Althea that there was something amiss in this view point of his. She began, however, timidly: “Doesn’t—do not all the nations leave Christ out? I mean,, you never hear of their opening their Conferences of Nations with prayer, or with a reading of this Book— do you?” Then she immediately realized that the Personage sup pressed a smile. It was the merest flicker across, his coun tenance and was gone in an instant. But he was equally immediate in realizing that she had seen it. “Will you pardon the rudeness! I smiled, not at you, myi dear1young friend, but at the always childlike wonder and innocence1of those who really know your Christ. Ah! How the world'needs the dew of this innocence today! The nations are thirsty and they do not know it. There is water somewhere but they do not find it. Why ? I wonder.” After a moment he added: “Perhaps the statesmen of the world fear to see that pierced Hand among the docu ments they pile upon their tables.” There was silence for a little, and then Constance said: “Before I left Boston someone remarked, at dinner, that in this conference that is now in session, the nations were seeking prestige, or really, Self. And—I do not mean to preach, but Christ said, ‘He that loveth his life shall lose it.’ ” “Yes!” agreed her new-old friend, leaning with his elbows sociably on the rail, with the air of settling down to a long and agreeable conversation. “One can hardly pic ture the humility and the self-effacement that have hal lowed Nazareth and Bethlehem and the hills of Judea to humanity—” A new voice broke in upon them. A woman was say ing, in excited French, “Philippe! The wireless message has come.” And with a courteous “Adieu, for a time, Mademoiselle! But I must see you again. ‘J’ai'tant mille choses de vous dire!’ ” he was off, to confer and think and plan—had Constance but known it—about the
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