FROM now on Fanny Brandeis' life became such a
swift-moving thing that your trilogist would
have regarded her with disgust. Here was no slow
unfolding, petal by petal. Here were two processes
going on, side by side. Fanny, the woman of business,
flourished and throve like a weed, arrogantly flaunting
its head above the timid, white flower that lay close
to the soil, and crept, and spread, and multiplied. Be-
tween the two the fight went on silently.

Fate, or Chance, or whatever it is that directs our
movements, was forever throwing tragic or comic little
life-groups in her path, and then, pointing an arrest-
ing finger at her, implying, "This means you!" Fanny
stepped over these obstructions, or walked around
them, or stared straight through them.

She had told herself that she would observe the first
anniversary of her mother's death with none of those
ancient customs by which your pious Jew honors his
dead. There would be no Yahrzeit light burning for
twenty-four hours. She would not go to Temple for
Kaddish prayer. But the thing was too strong for her,
too anciently inbred. Her ancestors would have lighted
a candle, or an oil lamp. Fanny, coming home at six,
found herself turning on the shaded electric lamp in
her hall. She went through to the kitchen.

"Princess, when you come in to-morrow morning
you'll find a light in the hall. Don't turn it off until
to-morrow evening at six."

"All day long, Miss Fan! Mah sakes, wa' foh?"

"It's just a religious custom."

-200-