you to Mr. Isaac Bernstein—dealer in forged bills and patron of penmen. Surely you have heard of Bernstein."
"Oh yes, I've heard of Bernstein. So you are Mr. Isaac Bernstein. Who's the other man?"
"The other man is"—this with a glance towards the lady—"merely a thief."
"I'm no thief! I'll let you know I'm not to be called thief—especially by you!"
Young Moore's disclaimer was half whine, half snarl. Bernstein took up his tale.
"Mr. Symonds, I'm glad to meet you, sir. Our—our friend here is fond of his joke. You mustn't take him seriously. It—it's his way to say things which he doesn't mean. I just stepped in to say a word to him in private—just one word; so I hope you'll forgive me if I seem to be intruding. Lawrence, I—I came with our young friend here along the little back passage, which the models used to use, because I—I wanted to speak one word to you in private. Would you mind stepping on one side just—just for half a moment."
"No, Bernstein, I won't. Anything you have to say to me, you'll say in public; at the top of your voice; out loud. I'm going to say my say so that every one may hear me—she and they."
