“Dot’sh alla right! You will finish your sermon afterward. And in the meantime lesh have a valtz from the land of valtzes!” With which he forcibly dragged her off her seat, catching her round the waist.
“But I don’t need it, I don’t wish it! Go to your Mamie!” she protested, struggling. “I tell you I don’t need it, I don’t——” The rest of the sentence was choked off by her violent breathing; for by this time she was spinning with Jake like a top. After another moment’s pretense at struggling to free herself she succumbed, and presently clung to her partner, the picture of triumph and beatitude.
Meanwhile Mamie had walked up to Joe’s side, and without much difficulty caused him to abandon the lancers party to themselves, and to resume with her the waltz which Jake had so abruptly broken off.
In the course of the following intermission she diplomatically seated herself beside her rival, and paraded her tranquillity of mind by accosting her with a question on shop matters. Fanny was not blind to the manœuvre, but her exultation was all the greater for it, and she participated in the ensuing conversation with exuberant geniality.
By-and-bye they were joined by Jake.
“Vell, vill you treat, Jake?” said Mamie.
“Vot you vant, a kish?” he replied, putting his offer in action as well as in language.
Mamie slapped his arm.
“May the Angel of Death kiss you!” said her lips in Yiddish. “Try again!” her glowing face overruled them in a dialect of its own.
Fanny laughed.