“I am surprised, father,” she said sorrowfully, “to hear you put it that way.  I do not think you can realize what it means for a young woman to drop out of society.  And I do not see how you can compare those times you speak of with the present.  I am sure Doctor Schoolman frequently tells us what remarkable advance we have made over those times in every way.  I hope you do not wish to go backward!” and Mrs. Gray felt a little flutter of triumph at her own unusual skill in argument.  Nobody responded at once and she gathered courage to go on.

“I quite agree with that young man who spoke at our church in behalf of the Y.M.C.A.  Gymnasium.  You remember he said that the days had quite gone by for a ‘long-faced Christianity.’  I thought it a very sensible remark.”

“Winifred has not troubled us with a very long face lately,” remarked her father, glancing at her.  “It has lengthened somewhat since we began our discussion, but I think it has been unusually cheerful for a week or so.”

Winifred colored under these personal observations.

“I do not know what it will become,” said her mother, “if she denies herself all gayety like those young persons you tell about.”

“My memory of those young persons,” said Mr. Gray, smiling, “is not a very melancholy one.  Some of them were pretty severe upon themselves and other people too, I will admit.  But the most of them seemed to have found something so very satisfactory that these diversions were not required.  I think Winifred is like the latter sort.  I hope so.  But, Hubert,” turning to his son, “you look very much interested in this matter, but have said nothing.  I suppose you agree with Winifred?”

“I do, sir,” said Hubert readily.

“I thought so—­I thought so,” said his father, far from displeased with the reply.  He did not explain to the little company that he, himself, had been one of the “young persons” referred to, and that great had been his comfort in the early days of the new life; but that a series of decoys had gradually led him back to the world’s excitements and ambitions, until his professed Christianity had crystallized into the formal, eminently respectable, but powerless mold of conventional religion.  His memory of early, ardent days was stirred, and he gladly warmed himself by its fires.

“But, Hubert,” he went on, “you are a thoughtful young man—­how do you account for the fact that Christ, Himself, attended social functions?  He was not a recluse.  He was at the marriage in Cana of Galilee, at a dinner in the house of Simon the Pharisee, at a feast in Bethany, and I do not know at how many other social gatherings.  Indeed it was charged against Him that He received sinners and ate with them.  What do you make of it?”

“It is a difficult question, father,” said Hubert.  “But I should think if we consider in what capacity He went to those places, and what He did when He got there, it might give us light.”