"But you ain't goin' by Joe to-night!" she answered, with a withering curl of her lip, her glance still on the ground. "Go to your lady, she'll be mad atch you." "I didn't vonted to gu here, honesht, Fanny. I o'ly come to tell Jaw shometin', an' dot'sh ull," he said guiltily. "Why should you apologize?" she addressed the tip of her shoe in her mother tongue. "As if he was obliged to apologize to me! _For my part_ you can _dance_ with her day and night. _Vot do I care?_ As if I _cared_! I have only come to see what a _bluffer_ you are. Do you think I am a _fool_? As _smart_ as your Mamie, _anyvay_. As if I had not known he wanted to make me stay at home! What are you afraid of? Am I in your way then? As if I was in his way! What business have I to be in your way? Who is in your way?" While she was thus speaking in her voluble, querulous, harassing manner, Jake stood with his hands in his trousers' pockets, in an attitude of mock attention. Then, suddenly losing patience, he said: "_Dot'sh alla right!_ You will finish your sermon afterward. And in the meantime _lesh have a valtz_ from the land of _valtzes_!" With which he forcibly dragged her off her seat, catching her round the waist. "But I don't need it, I don't wish it! Go to your Mamie!" she protested, struggling. "I tell you I don't need it, I don't----" The rest of the sentence was choked off by her violent breathing; for by this time she was spinning with Jake like a top. After another moment's pretense at struggling to free herself she succumbed, and presently clung to her partner, the picture of triumph and beatitude. Meanwhile Mamie had walked up to Joe's side, and without much difficulty caused him to abandon the lancers party to themselves, and to resume with her the waltz which Jake had so abruptly broken off. In the course of the following intermission she diplomatically seated herself beside her rival, and paraded her tranquillity of mind by accosting her with a question on shop matters. Fanny was not blind to the manoeuvre, but her exultation was all the greater for it, and she participated in the ensuing conversation with exuberant geniality. By-and-bye they were joined by Jake. "Vell, vill you treat, Jake?" said Mamie. "Vot you vant, a kish?" he replied, putting his offer in action as well as in language. Mamie slapped his arm. "May the Angel of Death kiss you!" said her lips in Yiddish. "Try again!" her glowing face overruled them in a dialect of its own. Fanny laughed. "Once I am _treating_, both _ladas_ must be _treated_ alike, _ain' it_?" remarked the gallant, and again he proved himself as good as his word, although Fanny struggled with greater energy and ostensibly with more real indignation. "But vy don't you treat, you stingy loafer you?"