The Gurneys were nominally Friends, but they had gradually slipped away from the directness of speech, the plainness of dress, and the simplicity of the Quakers.  They were getting rich on government contracts—­and who wants to be ridiculous anyway?  So, with consternation, the father and mother heard the avowal of Elizabeth to adopt the extreme customs of the Friends.  They sought to dissuade her.  They pointed out the uselessness of being singular, and the folly of adopting a mode of life that makes you a laughing-stock.  But this eighteen-year-old girl stood firm.  She had resolved to live the Christ-life and devote her energies to lessening the pains of earth.  Life was too short for frivolity; no one could afford to compromise with evil.  She became the friend of children; the champion of the unfortunate; she sided with the weak; she was their friend and comforter.  Her life became a cry in favor of the oppressed, a defense of the downtrodden, an exaltation of self-devotion, a prayer for universal sympathy, liberty and light.  She pleaded for the vicious, recognizing that all are sinners and that those who do unlawful acts are no more sinners in the eyes of God than we who think them so.

The religious nature and sex-life are closely akin.  The woman possessing a high religious fervor is also capable of a great and passionate love.  But the Norwich Friends did not believe in a passionate love, except as the work of the devil.  Yet this they knew, that marriage tames a woman as nothing else can.  They believed in religion, of course—­but not an absorbing, fanatical religion!  Elizabeth should get married—­it would cure her mental maladies:  exaltation of spirit in a girl is a dangerous thing anyway.  Nothing subdues like marriage.

It may not be generally known, but your religious ascetic is a great matchmaker.  In all religious communities, especially rural communities, men who need wives need not advertise—­there are self-appointed committees of old ladies who advise and look after such matters closely.  The immanence of sex becomes vicarious, and that which once dwelt in the flesh is now a thought:  like men-about-town, whose vices finally become simply mental, so do these old ladies carry on courtships by power of attorney.

And so the old ladies found a worthy Quaker man who would make a good husband for Elizabeth.  The man was willing.  He wrote a letter to her from his home in London, addressing it to her father.  The letter was brief and businesslike.  It described himself in modest but accurate terms.  He weighed ten stone and was five feet eight inches high; he was a merchant with a goodly income; and in disposition was all that was to be desired—­at least he said so.  His pedigree was standard.

The Gurneys looked up this Mr. Fry, merchant, of London, and found all as stated.  He checked O.K.  He was invited to visit at Norwich; he came, he saw, and was conquered.  He liked Elizabeth, and Elizabeth liked him—­she surely did or she would never have married him.