"
"You stay right here, Feist. I want you to hear every word that I'm
going to say. If my daughter has no shame, I haven't, either. Williams,
call Mrs. Sopinsky's maid, and see that she gets to her room
comfortable. Sit down, Bleema!"
"My God!--I can't believe my ears--Bleema and such a _goy_ play-actor--"
"Please, Rosie!"
"A _goy_ that--"
"Rosie, I said, 'Please!' Bleema, did you hear me? Sit down!"
Miss Pelz sat then, gingerly on the chair-edge, her young lips straight.
"Well?"
Her father crunched into his stiff damask napkin, holding a fistful of
it tense against bringing it down in a china-shivering bang. Then, with
carefully spaced words, "If I didn't think, Bleema, that you are crazy
for the moment, infatuated with--"
"I'm not infatuated!"
"Bleema, Bleema, don't talk to your father so ugly!"
"Well, I guess I know my own mind. I guess I know when I'm in love with
the finest, darlingest fellow that ever--"
"You hush that, Bleema! Hush that, while I can hold myself in. That I
should live to hear my child make herself common over a loafer--"
"Papa, if you call him another name, I--I--"
"You'll sit right here and hear me out.
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