A sudden inspiration leapt to his heart. She should not have to wait for his death to be happy; he would live to see her happy. He would pretend that her marriage cost him no pang; indeed, would not truly the pang be swallowed up in the thought of her happiness? But would she be happy? Could she be happy with this alien? Ah, there was the chilling doubt! If a quarrel came, would not the man always throw it in her face that she was a Jewess? Well, that must be left to herself. She was old enough not to rush into misery. Through all these years he had taken her pensive brow as the seat of all wisdom, her tender eyes as the glow of all goodness, and he could not suddenly readjust himself to a contradictory conception. By the time she came in he had composed himself for his task.
"Ah, my dear," he said, with a beaming smile, "I have heard the good news."
The answering smile died out of her eyes. She looked frightened.
"It's all right, little Schnapsie," he said roguishly. "So now I shall have seven sons-in-law. And Alfred the Second, eh?"
"You have heard?"
"Yes," he said, pinching her ear. "Thinks she can keep anything from her old father, does she?"
"But do you know that he is a—a—"
"A Christian? Of course. What's the difference, as long as he's a good man, eh?" He laughed noisily.
Little Schnapsie looked more frightened than ever. Were her father's wits wandering at last?