“It shall be nothing on earth—­something in heaven,” he answered.  “Kiss me, or I shall call you unconventional.”

She touched his cheek hurriedly with her soft lips.

“A very crude and amateur kiss,” he said critically.  “However, after all, I have an excuse for marrying you—­which all clever Jews who marry conventional Jewesses haven’t got—­you’re a fine model.  That is another of the many advantages of my profession.  I suppose you’ll be a model wife, in the ordinary sense, too.  Do you know, my darling, I begin to understand that I could not love you so much if you were not so religious, if you were not so curiously like a Festival Prayer-Book, with gilt edges and a beautiful binding.”

“Ah, I am so glad, dear, to hear you say that,” said Addie, with the faintest suspicion of implied past disapproval.

“Yes,” he said musingly.  “It adds the last artistic touch to your relation to me.”

“But you will reform!” said Addie, with girlish confidence.

“Do you think so?  I might commence by becoming a vegetarian—­that would prevent me eating forbidden flesh.  Have I ever told you my idea that vegetarianism is the first step in a great secret conspiracy for gradually converting the world to Judaism?  But I’m afraid I can’t be caught as easily as the Gentiles, Addie dear.  You see, a Jewish sceptic beats all others. Corruptio optimi pessima, probably.  Perhaps you would like me to marry in a synagogue?”

“Why, of course!  Where else?”

“Heavens!” said Sidney, in comic despair.  “I feared it would come to that.  I shall become a pillar of the synagogue when I am married, I suppose.”

“Well, you’ll have to take a seat,” said Addie seriously, “because otherwise you can’t get buried.”

“Gracious, what ghoulish thoughts for an embryo bride!  Personally, I have no objection to haunting the Council of the 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.”