The rabbi waited a moment, then queried, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“You don't answer.”
“I don't mean to answer. It isn't a fair question,” said Elias.
The rabbi gave a short, contemptuous laugh.
Again for a while neither of them spoke. Elias was uncomfortably conscious that the rabbi's eyes were fixed upon his face. He stood it as long as he could. Then, abruptly, he got up.
“Please excuse me,” he said, “I have something to do up-stairs.”
With which he left the room.
He went to his studio and locked the door behind him. He had told the rabbi that he had something to do. But the truth was that he had nothing to do, except to kill time as best he could until the hour should arrive for him to start for Sixty-third Street. He had arranged not to call upon Christine at all that day. He thought it would be more considerate to leave her alone with her father. Now, the day stretched out like an eternity before his imagination. Would it ever wear away?
It occurred to him that it might not be a bad plan to get some sleep, if he could; so he retired to his bedroom, and threw himself all dressed upon his bed.