Rebecca had been prepared for a change in Minnie. Ten years of plenty. But to think that Abe Shmukler with his cloaks and suits could have blotted out the fine sensitiveness of the sister she had loved and left in its place his own gross imprint! Minnie’s thin long fingers were now heavy and weighted with diamonds. The slender lines of her figure had grown bulky with fat.
“And to think that you who used to shine up the street like a princess in your home-mades are such a fashion-plate now?” Rebecca laughed reproachfully.
They drew apart and gazed achingly at one another. Rebecca’s soul grew faint within her as though her own flesh and blood had grown alien to her. Why couldn’t Minnie have lifted Abe to her high thoughts? Why did she let him drag her down to his cloaks and suits—make her a thing of store-bought style?
“Minnie—Minnie!” the younger sister wept, bewildered. “Where have you gone? What have you done with yourself?”
Minnie brushed away her tears and laughed away her sister’s reproach. “Did you want me to remain always an East Side venteh?”
Then she hugged the young sister with a fresh burst of affection. “Rebecca, you little witch! All you need is a little style. I’ll take you to the best stores, and when I get through with you no one will guess that you came from Delancey Street.”
“You have the same old heart, Minnie, although you shine like a born Mrs. Vanderbilt.”
“No wonder you have no luck for a man with these clothes,” Minnie harped back to the thing uppermost in her mind.
“But you weren’t fixed up in style when Felix Weinberg was so crazy about you.”
“Do you ever see him?” came eagerly.