"A rare visitor! A rare visitor!" he exclaimed. "But I know you could not come sooner to see the parents of your betrothed. We have heard how your severe grandfather ordered you to sit in Bet-ha-Midrash to read the Talmud. Well, it does not matter much; does it? The zeide is a dear old man, and did not mean it unkindly, just as you did not mean to do any wrong. Young people will now and then kick over the traces. Come into the drawing-room; I will call my wife, and she will make you welcome as a dear son-in-law."
The worldly-wise merchant spoke smilingly, and holding Meir by the hand, led him into the drawing-room. There, before the green sofa, he stood still, and looked into Meir's face and said:
"It is very praiseworthy, Meir, that you are bashful and shy of your future wife. I was the same at your age, and all young men ought to feel like it; but my daughter has been brought up in the world, where customs are somewhat different. She is wondering that she does not even know the fiance who is to be her husband within a month. I will go and bring her here. Nobody need know you are together. I will shut the door and window, and you can have a quiet talk together and make each other's acquaintance."
He was moving towards the door, but Meir grasped him by the sleeve.
"Reb!" he said. "I am not thinking of betrothals or weddings; I came to you on a different errand altogether."
Witebski looked sharply at the grave and pale face of the young man, and his brow became slightly clouded.
"It is not about my own affairs I have come to you, Reb—"
The merchant quickly interrupted:
"If it be neither your affair nor mine, why enter it?"
"There are affairs," said the young man, "which belong to everybody, and it is everybody's business to think and speak about them."