Moses Bernberg's daughter could not deny this; her salon was the rendezvous of rich bagmen, brokers and bankers, tempered by occasional young bloods and old bucks not of the Jewish faith (nor any other). But she had never before encountered a personage so magnificently shabby, nor extended her proverbial hospitality to a Polish _Schnorrer_ uncompromisingly musty. Joseph did not dare meet her eye. "Sit down there, Yankelé," he said hurriedly, in ghastly genial accents, and he indicated a chair at the farthest possible point from the hostess. He placed Manasseh next to his Polish parasite, and seated himself as a buffer between his guests and his wife. He was burning with inward indignation at the futile rifling of his wardrobe, but he dared not say anything in the hearing of his spouse. "It is a beautiful custom, this of the Sabbath guest, is it not, Mrs. Grobstock?" remarked Manasseh as he took his seat. "I never neglect it--even when I go out to the Sabbath-meal as to-night." The late Miss Bernberg was suddenly reminded of auld lang syne: her father (who according to a wag of the period had divided his time between the Law and the profits) having been a depositary of ancient tradition. Perhaps these obsolescent customs, unsuited to prosperous times, had lingered longer among the Spanish grandees. She seized an early opportunity, when the Sephardic _Schnorrer_ was taking his coffee from Wilkinson, of putting the question to her husband, who fell in weakly with her illusions. He knew there was no danger of Manasseh's beggarly status leaking out; no expressions of gratitude were likely to fall from that gentleman's lips. He even hinted that da Costa dressed so fustily to keep his poor friend in countenance. Nevertheless, Mrs. Grobstock, while not without admiration for the Quixotism, was not without resentment for being dragged into it. She felt that such charity should begin and end at home. "I see you did save me a slice of salmon," said Manasseh, manipulating his fish. "What salmon was that?" asked the hostess, pricking up her ears. "One I had from Mr. da Costa on Wednesday," said the host. "Oh, that! It was delicious. I am sure it was very kind of you, Mr. da Costa, to make us such a nice present," said the hostess, her resentment diminishing. "We had company last night, and everybody praised it till none was left. This is another, but I hope it is to your liking," she finished anxiously. "Yes, it's very fair, very fair, indeed. I don't know when I've tasted better, except at the house of the President of the _Deputados_. But Yankelé here is a connoisseur in fish, not easy to please. What say you, Yankelé?" Yankelé munched a muffled approval. "Help yourself to more bread and butter, Yankelé," said Manasseh. "Make yourself at home--remember you're my guest." Silently he added: "The other fork!" Grobstock's irritation found vent in a complaint that the salad wanted vinegar.