"Listen, Meir," he said. "I will tell you one thing. You have taken a wrong turning altogether. People shake their heads and speak badly of you; but I am indulgent with you. I make allowance because you are young, and because I am not of the same way of thinking as the people here, and know that many things in Israel are not as they ought to be. I think it; but do not speak about it or show it. Why should I expose myself to their ill-feeling? What can I do? If it be the Lord who ordered it so, why should I offend Him and make Him turn against me? If it be people's doing, other people will come in time to set it right. My business is to look after my family and their well-being. I am not a judge or a Rabbi either; therefore I keep quiet, try to please God and the people, and be in nobody's way. These re my principles, and I wish they were yours also Meir. I should let you go your own way, and not give advice to you either; but since you are to be my son-in-law, I must keep my eye upon you."
"Rob!" interrupted Meir, whose eyelids quivered with suppressed irritation, "do not be angry with me or think me rude, but I cannot marry your daughter. I shall never be her husband."
Witebski turned rigid with amazement.
"Do we hear aright?" he said, after a while. "Did not your grandfather pledge you to her and send the betrothal gifts?"
"My grandfather agreed with you about it," said Meir, in a trembling voice; "but he did it against my wish."
"Well," said Witebski, with the greatest amazement, "and what have you to say against my daughter?"
"I have no feelings against her, Rob; but my heart is not drawn to her. She also does not care for me. The other day, when passing your house, I heard her crying and lamenting that they wanted her to marry a common, ignorant Jew. It may be I am a common, ignorant Jew, but her education likewise is not to my taste. Why should you wish to bind us? We are not children, and know what our heart desires and what it does not desire."
Witebski still looked at the young man in utter bewilderment, and raising both hands to his head, exclaimed indignantly:
"Did my ears not deceive me? You do not want my daughter—my beautiful, educated Mera?"
A hot flush had mounted to his forehead. The gentle diplomatist and man of the world had disappeared, only the outraged father remained.