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Updated: June 5, 2025
I made my way into Ascher's study, wondering how long I should have to wait for him. I wondered where he was and what he was doing. Who sent Jack Heneage to search for Ascher? I could not remember whose private secretary Jack was. Mrs. Ascher was thinking of art and beauty, the bishop, no doubt about God and goodness. Gorman was turning over in his mind nice new phrases about democracy and peace.
It was with almost feverish anxiety that the eyes of the Ghetto were fixed upon the development of a character like Ascher's; they followed his every step with the closest attention. Long experience had taught the Ghetto that no gambler could be trusted.
"There'll be a Parliament in Dublin all right this time next year; but I'm not sure that I'll be in it. After all, you know, Dublin's rather a one-horse place. I don't see how I could very well live there. I might run over for an important debate now and then, but You see I've a lot of interests in London. I suppose you've heard about the new Cash Register Company and what Ascher's done."
I understood just enough about this business of Ascher's to be able to read romance, the romance which was certainly there, in the movements of the quiet men who passed and repassed before my eyes, or bent with rarely lifted heads over huge ledgers, or turned over with deft fingers piles of papers in stuffed filing boxes. These men were in touch with the furthest ends of the earth.
Owen Meredith wrote a poem in which he glorified the game of chess as an aid to quiet conjugal love-making. But so far as I know no one has suggested that Canfield it was Mrs. Ascher's favourite kind of Patience has ever been used as an excuse for flirtation.
The architect may perhaps have been thinking of the great soldier's nose. Gorman walked straight up to that door. "Here we are," he said. "Surely," I said, "this Greek temple can't be Ascher's office?" "This is the exact spot." "Tell me," I said, "do we take off our shoes at the threshold or say grace, or perform some kind of ceremonial lustration? We can't go in just as we are."
Ascher's statuette was very nice and graceful; a much better thing than I expected to see, but there was nothing in it, nothing at all in the way of thought or emotion. There must be hundreds of people who can turn out clay girls just as good as that Psyche. Somehow I had expected something different from Mrs. Ascher, less skill in modelling, less care, but more temperament.
He confided in me that it gave him real pleasure to see her and Gorman together because, as artists, they must have much in common. Ascher has a very simple and beautiful nature. No one with any other kind of nature could put up with Mrs. Ascher as a wife. Mere simplicity of soul and beauty of character would not, I am afraid, have kept me at Ascher's side for the rest of the voyage.
Do men, in fact, become saints straightway when their bellies are full? It is strange how childish memories awaken in us suddenly. As I laid down Ascher's book there came to me a picture of a scene in my old home. We were at prayers in the dining-room. My father sat at a little table with a great heavy Bible before him.
In reality most people wear motley all day long and the fairy powers are leprechauns, tricksy, irresponsible sprites, willing enough to make merry with those who can laugh with them; but players of all Puck's tricks on "wisest aunts telling saddest tales." I sometimes think that it is Ascher's chivalry, his fine knightliness, which has killed his sense of humour.
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