'Gracious, what ghoulish thoughts for an embryo bride! Personally, I have no objection to haunting the Council of the United Synagogue till they give me a decently comfortable grave. But I see what it will be! I shall be whitewashed by the Jewish press, eulogised by platform orators as a shining light in Israel, the brilliant impressionist painter, and all that. I shall pay my synagogue bill and never go. In short, I shall be converted to Philistinism, and die in the odour of respectability. And Judaism will continue to flourish. Oh, Addie, Addie, if I had thought of all that, I should never have asked you to be my wife.' 'I am glad you didn't think of it,' laughed Addie ingenuously. 'There! You never will take me seriously!' he grumbled. 'Nobody ever takes me seriously--I suppose because I speak the truth. The only time you ever took me seriously in my life was a few minutes ago. So you actually think I'm going to submit to the benedictions of a Rabbi.' 'You must,' said Addie. 'I'm blest if I do,' he said. 'Of course you will,' said Addie, laughing merrily. 'Thanks--I'm glad you appreciate my joke. You perhaps fancy it's yours. However, I'm in earnest. I won't be a respectable high-hatted member of the community--not even for your sake, dear. Why, I might as well go back to my ugly real name, Samuel Abrahams, at once.' 'So you might, dear,' said Addie boldly; and smiled into his eyes to temper her audacity. 'Ah, well, I think it'll be quite enough if _you_ change your name,' he said, smiling back. 'It's just as easy for me to change it to Abrahams as to Graham,' she said with charming obstinacy. He contemplated her for some moments in silence, with a whimsical look on his face. Then he looked up at the sky--the brilliant colour harmonies were deepening into a more sober magnificence. 'I'll tell you what I will do. I'll join the Asmoneans. There! that's a great concession to your absurd prejudices. But you must make a concession to mine. You know how I hate the Jewish canvassing of engagements. Let us keep ours entirely _entre nous_ a fortnight--so that the gossips shall at least get their material stale, and we shall be hardened. I wonder why you're so conventional,' he said again, when she had consented without enthusiasm. 'You had the advantage of Esther--of Miss Ansell's society.' 'Call her Esther if you like; _I_ don't mind,' said Addie. 'I wonder Esther didn't convert you,' he went on musingly. 'But I suppose you had Raphael on your right hand, as some prayer or other says. And so you really don't know what's become of her?' 'Nothing beyond what I wrote to you. Mrs. Goldsmith discovered she had written the nasty book, and sent her packing. I have never liked to broach the subject myself to Mrs. Goldsmith, knowing how unpleasant it must be to her. Raphael's version is that Esther went away of her own accord; but I can't see what grounds he has for judging.'