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Updated: May 17, 2025
"You don't impress me with your airs. Try them on people who don't know what you were a Schnorrer's daughter. Yes, your father was always a Schnorrer and you are his child. It's in the blood. Ha! Ha! Ha! Moses Ansell's daughter! Moses Ansell's daughter a peddler, who went about the country with brass jewelry and stood in the Lane with lemons and schnorred half-crowns of my father.
"I am only a Schnorrer's daughter. Well, are you going or must I?" He muttered something inarticulate, then seized his hat sulkily and went to the door without looking at her. "You have forgotten something," she said. He turned; her forefinger pointed to the bouquet on the table.
But the next instant she was chilled as by a gray cold fog. The realities of things came back, a whirl of self-contemptuous thoughts blent with a hopeless sense of the harshness of life. Who was she to aspire to such a match? Had her earlier day-dream left her no wiser than that? The Schnorrer's daughter setting her cap at the wealthy Oxford man, forsooth! What would people say?
If we cannot now mend our faults, we will not deceive ourselves about them, but at least keep the way open for amendment." So they had encouraged each other to clearer vision and nobler living. And from such companionship to have fallen to a Schnorrer's! Oh, it was unendurable.
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