“Who then?”
“Thish very daughter you speaksh of.”
“She!” exclaimed the young Jewess, with a curl of the lip, and a contemptuous twist of her beautiful nostril, that all at once changed her beauty into very ugliness. “She, you say? I wonder what next! The conceited mustee—herself no better than a slave!”
“Shtop—shtop, Shoodith,” interrupted the Jew, with a look of uneasiness. “Keep that to yourshelf, my shild. Shay no more about it—at leasht, not now, not now. The trees may have earsh.”
The burst of angry passion hindered the fair “Shoodith” from making rejoinder, and for some moments father and daughter rode on in silence.
The latter was the first to re-commence the conversation.
“You are foolish, good father,” said she; “absurdly foolish.”
“Why, Shoodith?”
“Why? In offering to buy this girl at all.”
“Ay—what would you shay?” inquired the old Jew, as if the interrogatory had been an echo to his own thoughts. “What would you shay?”