he 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, eulogized 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 odor 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'll be 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 color harmonies
were deepening into a more sober magnificence.

"I'll tell you what I will do. Ill 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