For a while neither nephew nor uncle spoke.
At last, “What are you thinking about, Elias?” the rabbi asked.
“I was thinking, if you wish to know,” Elias answered, “of my great happiness—of the fact that to-day the lady whom I love is to become my wife.”
“Ah, so? It doesn't seem to improve your appetite,” returned the rabbi. “You're not eating especially well.”
He made Elias the object of a curious, meditative glance; then pursued: “Don't misunderstand me, Elias. It isn't at all my aim to dissuade you from this marriage. That, as I told you last night, would be a work of supererogation. But I should like to ask you just a single question. Suppose your mother were still alive, would you entertain for an instant the idea of marrying a Christian?”
“I don't know?”
“You don't know?”
“Well, probably not.”
“Good. That is what I thought. And now, let me ask you one question more. Is it your opinion that, simply because your mother has died, you are absolved from all obligations toward her, and are at liberty to act in a way, which, if she were still with us, it would break her heart to have you act in? Is that your opinion?”
Elias did not reply. He colored up, however, and bit his lip.