"Well, it seems treife tastes better," Asriel rejoined bitterly.
"A calamity upon my sinful head! We must have evil-eyed the child; we have devoured him with our admiring looks."
While Asriel was answering her volley of questions, Flora stealthily left the house.
When Stroon missed her he hurried off to Clinton Street. There he learned of the landlady that her lodger had left a short while before, in the company of his friend and a young lady whom the two young men had found waiting in her parlor. In his despair Asriel betook himself to the Astor Library, to some of Flora's friends, and even to the Bowery restaurant.
When he reached home, exhausted with fatigue and rage, he found his daughter in her room.
"Where have you been?" he demanded, sternly.
"I'll tell you where, but don't aggravate yourself, papaly," she replied in beseeching, tearful accents.
"Where have you been?"
"I am going to tell you, but don't blame Shaya. He is awful fond of you. It's all my fault. He didn't want to go, but I couldn't help it, papaly. We've been to the city court and got married by a judge. Shaya didn't want to."
"You married!"