"But may I not be your follower?" he pleaded, choosing the word for its double sense.
"Lay sisters don't have followers," she replied. "They don't go with the costume."
"Then why wear it? Will you turn away a disciple for a mere matter of dress?"
"My dress," she said, "is of more use and protection to me than anything you can do or than money can buy. You have politicians who say that society is built upon force. My dress is the work of women; thousands of lives have made it what it is, and it will take me safely into slums where no policeman dare go alone. When your politicians can come here in coats of a similar make, then they will have begun to solve the problems which they are so fond of talking about. Now, will you please to walk on the other side of the road?"
He took her hand, saying earnestly, "When are we to meet again?"
She shook her head at him, smiling. "Truthfully I haven't time for you," she said, "and I can't make promises."
And then, just for once—for it seemed his last chance—Max fell into sentiment.
"One I want you to make," he insisted.
"What is that?"
"That you will pray for me!"