Yet his feeling was not entirely one of fear or of reluctance.
Sensitive to the tips of his fingers, he felt the influences of the
day, the sweetness of his cousin's laughter, the beauty of her face. He
was exhilarated by a strange intoxication. He was conscious that more
than one passer looked curiously at them as, he in his cassock and she
in her furs, they walked up Beacon Street. He felt as in boyhood he had
felt when about to embark in some adventure to childhood strange and
daring.
"It is a beautiful day," he said involuntarily.
"Yes," Mrs. Herman answered. "It is almost a pity to spend it indoors.
But here we are."
They had come into Mt. Vernon Street, and now turned in at a fine old
house of gray stone.
"Is there any discussion at these meetings?" he asked, as they waited
for the door to be opened.
"Oh, yes; often there is a good deal. You'll have ample opportunity to
protest against the heresies of the heathen."
"I do not come here to speak," he replied, rather stiffly. "I only come
to get some idea of how the oriental mind works."
He felt her smile to be that of one amused at him, but he could not see
why she should be.
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