“But Felicia is not going to be married, my boy,” remarked Peter, with a dry smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

Jack laughed.  “Yes—­but it’s her house.”

“Yes—­and your wedding.  Now go down and ask Mr. Cohen yourself.  You’ll send him a card, of course, but do more than that.  Call on him personally and tell you want him to come, and why—­and that I want him, too.  That will please him still more.  The poor fellow lives a great deal alone.  Whether he will come or not, I don’t know—­but ask him.  You owe it to yourself as much as you do to him.”

“And you don’t think Aunt Felicia will—­”

“Hang Felicia!  You do what you think is right; it does not matter what Felicia or anybody else thinks.”

Jack wheeled about and strode downstairs and into the back room where the little man sat at his desk looking over some papers.  Isaac’s hand was out and he was on his feet before Jack had reached his side.

“Ah!—­Mr. Millionaire.  And so you have come to tell me some more good news.  Have you sold another mine?  I should have looked out to see whether your carriage did not stop at my door; and now sit down and tell me what I can do for you.  How well you look, and how happy.  Ah, it is very good to be young!”

“What you can do for me is this, Mr. Cohen.  I want you to come to our wedding—­will you?  I have come myself to ask you,” said Jack in all sincerity.

“So!  And you have come yourself.”  He was greatly pleased; his face showed it.  “Well, that is very kind of you, but let me first congratulate you.  Yes—­Mr. Grayson told me all about it, and how lovely the young lady is.  And now tell me, when is your wedding?”

“Next month.”

“And where will it be?”

“At Uncle Peter’s old home up at Geneseo.”

“Oh, at that grand lady’s place—­the magnificent Miss Grayson.”  “Yes, but it is only one night away.  I will see that you are taken care of.”

The little man paused and toyed with the papers on his desk.  His black, diamond-pointed eyes sparkled and an irrepressible smile hung around his lips.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Breen—­and thank your young lady too.  You are very kind and you are very polite.  Yes—­I mean it—­very polite.  And you are sincere in what you say; that is the best of all.  But I cannot go.  It is not the travelling at night—­that is nothing.  You and your lady would be glad to see me and that would be worth it all, but the magnificent Miss Grayson, she would not be glad to see me.  You see, my dear young man”—­here the smile got loose and scampered up to his eyelids—­“I am a most unfortunate combination—­oh, most unfortunate—­for the magnificent Miss Grayson.  If I was only a tailor I might be forgiven; if I was just a Jew I might be forgiven; but when I am both a tailor and a Jew—­ “here the irrepressible went to pieces in a merry laugh—­“don’t you see how impossible it is?  And you—­you,