“Merciful Powers!” exclaimed Elias, and sat dumb.
“There's no use making so much ado about it, either,” pursued the rabbi. “It was bound to come out, you know, sooner or later; and, at any rate, you have no reason for feeling ashamed of it.”
“But—” began Elias.
“Oh, I dare say. I dare say, it's a little embarrassing. That's not unnatural. But then, you couldn't have kept it a secret forever. By its very nature, it was bound to come out.”
“But,” Elias began anew, “but it's not true. It's the most preposterous mistake I ever heard of. I never had any such idea, never dreamed of having any such idea. Intentions! Why, I always thought of her as—as scarcely more than a child. I don't see how anybody could have made such a stupid, ridiculous blunder. Well, I did give Mr. Koch credit for more intelligence.”
“Elias,” demanded the rabbi, with very great seriousness, “are you in earnest, or is this a comedy?”
“A comedy? I tell you it's outrageous. I never was more in earnest in my life.”
“And I am to understand that you have made Miss Morgenthau the object of your particular attentions—as you can't deny you have done—and in that way have necessarily endeared yourself more or less to her—I am to understand that you have deliberately done this, without meaning eventually to make her your wife?”
“Particular attentions! I've paid her no particular attentions. I took a friendly interest in the girl, and behaved toward her in a friendly way. My wife! The notion never entered my head—nor hers, either, I'll venture to say.”
“I can hardly believe it,” said the rabbi, shaking his head incredulously. “I don't like to believe it. I don't like to believe you capable of—of such—”