live plainly and without pretense, whose ideals center about the
hearth, and whose aspirations are to retire with a competence
early in the afternoon of life, thenceforth placidly to assist in
the prosperity of their children and to have their youth over
again in their grandchildren.

Feuerstein's gaze wandered from face to face among the young
women, to pause at last upon a dark, handsome, strong-looking
daughter of the people. She had coal-black hair that curled
about a low forehead. Her eyes were dreamy and stormy. Her
mouth was sweet, if a trifle petulant. ``And who is she?'' he
asked.

``That's Hilda Brauner,'' replied Horwitz. ``Her father has a
delicatessen in Avenue A. He's very rich--owns three
flat-houses. They must bring him in at least ten thousand net,
not to speak of what he makes in the store. They're fine people,
those Brauners; none nicer anywhere.''

``A beautiful creature,'' said Feuerstein, who was feeling like a
prince who, for reasons of sordid necessity, had condescended to
a party in Fifth Avenue. ``I'd like to meet her.''

``Certainly,'' replied Horwitz. ``I'll introduce her to you.''

She blushed and was painfully ill at ease in presence of his
grand and lofty courtesy--she who had been used to the offhand
manners which prevail wherever there is equality of the sexes and
the custom of frank sociability. And when he asked her to dance
she would have refused had she been able to speak at all. But he