"An excellent thing!" said Sugarman. "A wife who squints can never look her husband straight in the face and overwhelm him. Who would quail before a woman with a squint?" "I could endure the squint," went on Leibel dubiously, "but she also stammers." "Well, what is better, in the event of a quarrel? The difficulty she has in talking will keep her far more silent than most wives. You had best secure her while you have the chance." "But she halts on the left leg," cried Leibel, exasperated. "_Gott in Himmel!_ Do you mean to say you do not see what an advantage it is to have a wife unable to accompany you in all your goings?" Leibel lost patience. "Why, the girl is a hunchback!" he protested furiously. "My dear Leibel," said the marriage-broker, deprecatingly shrugging his shoulders and spreading out his palms. "You can't expect perfection!" Nevertheless, Leibel persisted in his unreasonable attitude. He accused Sugarman of wasting his time, of making a fool of him. "A fool of you!" echoed the Shadchan indignantly, "when I give you a chance of a boot and shoe manufacturer's daughter. You will make a fool of yourself if you refuse. I daresay her dowry would be enough to set you up as a master-tailor. At present you are compelled to slave away as a cutter for thirty shillings a week. It is most unjust. If you only had a few machines you would be able to employ your own cutters. And they can be got so cheap nowadays." This gave Leibel pause, and he departed without having definitely broken the negotiations. His whole week was befogged by doubt, his work became uncertain, his chalk-marks lacked their usual decision, and he did not always cut his coat according to his cloth. His aberrations became so marked that pretty Rose Green, the sweater's eldest daughter, who managed a machine in the same room, divined, with all a woman's intuition, that he was in love. "What is the matter?" she said in rallying Yiddish, when they were taking their lunch of bread and cheese and ginger-beer, amid the clatter of machines, whose serfs had not yet knocked off work. "They are proposing me a match," he answered sullenly. "A match!" ejaculated Rose. "Thou!" She had worked by his side for years, and familiarity bred the second person singular. Leibel nodded his head, and put a mouthful of Dutch cheese into it. "With whom?" asked Rose. Somehow he felt ashamed. He gurgled the answer into the stone ginger-beer bottle, which he put to his thirsty lips. "With Leah Volcovitch!" "Leah Volcovitch!" gasped Rose. "Leah, the boot and shoe manufacturer's daughter?" Leibel hung his head--he scarce knew why. He did not dare meet her gaze. His droop said "Yes." There was a long pause. "And why dost thou not have her?" said Rose. It was more than an enquiry. There was contempt in it, and perhaps even pique. Leibel did not reply. The embarrassing silence reigned again, and reigned long. Rose broke it at last. "Is it that thou likest me better?" she asked.