Mrs. Powle opened her eyes at Mrs. Caxton's quiet face; she set this speech down in her mind as uncontaminated fanaticism. She turned to Eleanor.
"Do the people there wear clothes?"
"The Christians clothe themselves, mamma; the heathen portion of the people hardly do, I believe. The climate requires nothing. They have a fashion of dress of their own, but it is not much."
"And can you help seeing these heathen?"
"No, of course not."
"Well you are changed!" said Mrs. Powle. "I would never have thought you would have consented to such degradation."
"I go that I may help mend it, mamma."
"Yes, you must stoop yourself first."
"Think how Jesus stooped—to what degradation—for us all."
Mrs. Powle paused, at the view of Eleanor's glistening eyes. It was not easy to answer, moreover.