“I did not ask them,” Adele answered coolly.  “I have fallen from caste, anyhow, and it doesn’t matter much.  You know since I have seen the Lord”—­it was Adele’s way of putting it—­“I have tried to—­to witness to Him in some way or other to my old friends; and the result has been a pretty liberal letting alone from them.  His name does not seem a very welcome one—­outside of a church!” Then she went on with a gleam of indignant sorrow in her bright eyes:  “That is what breaks one’s heart!  That these very people may kneel beside you in church and recite His holy name as glibly as possible; but outside—­it is unwelcome!  Winifred, can it be a Christian life at all into any avenue of which Christ is an intrusion?  Oh, if they loved Him—­if they had ever seen Him at all!—­they would be so glad of any mention of Him!”

After a moment a gleam of amused memory succeeded Adele’s pained outburst.  She went on: 

“The other night I think I reached the climax of my fall into disfavor.  You know these summer evenings at the Mission we take the organ and hymn books and go out before the door and have a street meeting.  Well, on this occasion our open-air meeting was in full swing and our usual score of auditors were lined up in the gutters and everywhere to hear.  Mr. McBride had announced ‘The best Friend to have is Jesus,’ and was himself swinging his arms and singing lustily, while I played and pumped the panting little instrument and sang as loudly as I could, too.  Suddenly there turned down the street a handsome automobile (I don’t know why, for they never go down that street) and in it the Misses Steele and Miss Proudfeather from Baltimore.  To crown it all, with them was seated my precious Cousin Dick!  Our poor little crowd huddled aside to let them pass.  They all saw me and Dick took off his hat with great ceremony; but the ladies evidently thought they would spare me the mortification of a recognition under the circumstances.  I couldn’t help laughing within myself, though it was a bit embarrassing.  Dick was hilarious over it.  He evidently sees nothing improper in it, but a very good joke.  He says he expects to hear me preaching there yet.  I told him it might be to his benefit if he did.”

Both laughed.  “But just think, Adele,” said Winifred, “how infinitely better to be in that little street crowd with the Lord, than driving about in the finest motor car without Him!”

“Yes!” cried Adele, “I wouldn’t trade places for worlds!”

“I should think not,” said Winifred, with scorn of the idea.

Adele was finding out, like her friend, that the way of the cross brings separation, and she had her own peculiar tests as to faithful witnessing.  Her merry-hearted cousin drew her out in words more frequently than any other, and plied her with questions concerning this new type of religion.

“It’s no new sort of religion at all,” she insisted.  “It’s just the old sort you read of in the New Testament—­and the prayer-book!  Only I am afraid I never really had it before—­or it had not really got me.  If people would only be sincere, Dick, you would find it is the same sort.”