to the irrepressible enthusiast whose spiritual understanding is often lost beneath a foam of feeling; from the instructed brother who reads his title clear with logical accuracy in the Scriptures and glories in his standing with belieing indifference to his state, to the anxious soul whose hope of heaven veers with every changing wind of fitful emotion.  Each critic was bent on discovering if the stranger would hew faithfully to the line of his own demarcation.

There were Mr. Selton’s friends, people of his own station, who responded to his personal invitation to come, prepared to listen courteously, to express polite thanks at the end for the pleasure conferred, and, for the most part, to find various lions in the way of attending again, profound as were their regrets!

Mr. Gray and Hubert both succeeded in getting the hour away from business, and the latter arrived at the hall just as his mother, with Winifred and Adele, was entering and joined them.  Adele formed a singular figure in the midst of the assembly.  No thought of unusual sobriety had toned down her usually stylish and somewhat striking costume, and a large red hat of the milliner’s finest skill shaded becomingly her piquant face.  Her keen, merry eyes studied the congregation, and she could not resist whispering a few impressions to Winifred before the lecture began.

“Isn’t this a funny crowd?” she asked.  “Such a combination!  Look at that meek little body in the front row and the fat dowager behind her.  And do see that anarchist-looking man at the side who is looking at Mr. Bond as though he would eat him up.  Do you know who he is?  I hope he hasn’t a bomb in his pocket.”

“I don’t know him, but I’ll ask Hubert,” said Winifred, and she passed the question along.

“Hubert, who is that man yonder—­the one with the high shoulders.  Adele thinks he is an anarchist.”

“I think so, too,” said Hubert.  “At least he is a socialist of a very virulent type.  He has come as a critic, I suppose.  He professes to study religionists, and writes scornful letters about them to a socialist paper.”

Winifred communicated this intelligence to Adele, who was much pleased with her own acumen.  Presently she resumed: 

“Do look at that woman ahead of us!—­the one in the little bonnet, and so distressingly neat.  She has been surveying us.  She doesn’t approve of me, but she commiserates me.  That’s plain enough.  Well, I am a sinner, no doubt, and she has found me out!  If she looks around again do see what you think of her.”

Mrs. Bland did look around again, and both young ladies observed her.  A rather shapely mouth was settled in an expression of studied repose, and her eyes rested approvingly, or with patient toleration, on others who were minded to come to the Bible lecture.  Her hair was parted with conscientious exactness, and upon her whole appearance there sat the picture of conscious piety.