ife here. How
interesting that I should know that, and feel it. It is like the first
movement in one of the concertos Theodore was forever playing. Now for
the second movement! It's got to be lively. Fortissimo! Presto!"

For so clever a girl as Fanny Brandeis, that was a stupid conclusion at
which to arrive. How could she think it possible to shed her past
life, like a garment? Those impressionable years, between fourteen and
twenty-four, could never be cast off. She might don a new cloak to cover
the old dress beneath, but the old would always be there, its folds
peeping out here and there, its outlines plainly to be seen. She might
eat of things rare, and drink of things costly, but the sturdy, stocky
little girl in the made-over silk dress, who had resisted the Devil in
Weinberg's pantry on that long-ago Day of Atonement, would always be
there at the feast. Myself, I confess I am tired of these stories of
young women who go to the big city, there to do battle with failure, to
grapple with temptation, sin and discouragement. So it may as well
be admitted that Fanny Brandeis' story was not that of a painful
hand-over-hand climb. She was made for success. What she attempted, she
accomplished. That which she strove for, she won. She was too sure, too
vital, too electric, for failure. No, Fanny Brandeis' struggle went on
inside. And in trying to stifle it she came near making the blackest
failure that a woman can make. In grubbing for the pot of gold she
almost missed the rainbow.

Rabbi Thalmann raised his arms for the benediction. Fanny looked
straight up at him as though stamping a picture on her mind. His eyes
were resting gently on her--or perhaps she just fancied that he spoke to
her alone as he began the words of the ancient closing prayer:

"May the blessings of the Lord Our God rest upon you. God bless thee
and keep thee. May He cause His countenance to shine upon thee and be
gracious unto thee. May God lift up His countenance unto thee..."

At the last word she hurried up the aisle, and down the stairs, into the
soft beauty of the May night. She felt she could stand no good-bys. In
her hotel room she busied herself with the half-packed trunks and bags.
So it was she altogether failed to see the dark young man who hurried
after her eagerly, and who was stopped by a dozen welcoming hands there
in the temple vestibule. He swore a deep inward "Damn!" as he saw her
straight, slim figure disappear down the steps a