Zalman had got as far as, “It has been in our family for hundreds of years——” when a shadow caused him to turn his head. He saw Barbara throw up her hands in amazement, saw the rabbi start forward as though he were about to interfere in something, and saw the precious wine glass in Reuben’s hand. Mechanically he reached forward to take it from him, and then instantly felt Reuben’s other hand against his breast, holding him back, and heard Reuben saying, quite naturally, “Wait!” It had not taken ten seconds—Zalman suddenly felt sick. The connoisseur hastily put on his glasses. The situation seemed interesting. “Mr. Zalman,” said Reuben, speaking very slowly and distinctly, yet carefully keeping the tailor at arm’s length, “I told you this very day that your daughter Barbara and I love each other. We will not marry without your consent. So you must consent. If I cannot marry Barbara I do not care what happens to me. I will have nothing to live for. I can give her a good home, and we will be very happy. You can come to live with us, if you like, and I will always be a good son to you. I swear by the Torah that this glass is nothing to me. I want Barbara because I love her, and you can throw this glass into the river for all I care. But if you do not give your consent I also swear by the Torah that I shall fling this glass to the floor and smash it into a thousand pieces.” Zalman, who had been clutching Reuben’s outstretched arm throughout this speech, and had followed every word with staring eyes and open mouth, dropped his arms and groaned. Barbara had listened in amazement to Reuben’s first words, but when his meaning dawned upon her she had clapped her kerchief to her mouth and fled precipitately through the doorway whence now came faint sounds which, owing to the distance, might have been either loud weeping or violent laughter. The rabbi’s face had reddened with indignation. The connoisseur alone was smiling. “Reuben,” said the rabbi sternly, “you have gone too far. Put the glass down!” He advanced toward the young man. “Hold!” cried Reuben. “If anyone in this room touches me or attempts to take this glass from me, I shall quickly hurl it to the floor. Look, everybody!” He held the glass aloft. “See how fragile it is! I have only to hold it a little tighter and it will break into a dozen pieces, and no human skill will ever be able to put them together again!” Zalman was in agony. “I yield,” he cried. “Give me the glass. You shall marry Barbara to-morrow. Do not hold it so tightly. Put it down gently.” He held out his hand. His lips were twitching with repressed curses on Reuben’s head. But Reuben only smiled. “No, good father,” he said. “Not to-morrow. You might change your mind. Let it be now, and your glass is safe.” (“What a pertinacious young man!” thought the connoisseur.) “May the fiends devour you!” cried Zalman.