‘They don’t stand at all,’ answered Mrs. Grubb promptly. ‘They sit right still, and some of them lie down flat, you might say, whenever it’s mentioned. They’ll do even more for temperance than they will for reformed diet, though goodness knows they’re fond enough of drinking. The Edenites number about sixty-seven in this city, and nine is the largest number of gentlemen that we’ve been able to interest. Those nine are the husbands and sons of the lady members, and at the next meeting two of them are going to be expelled for backsliding. I declare, if I was a man, I’d be ashamed to confess that I was all stomach; but that’s what most of them are. Not that it’s easy work to be an Edenite: it’s impossible to any but a highly spiritual nature. I have been on the diet for six months, and nothing but my position as vice-president of the society, and my desire to crush the body and release the spirit, could have kept me faithful. I don’t pretend to like it, but that doesn’t make me disloyal. There’s nothing I enjoy better than a good cut of underdone beef, with plenty of dish gravy; I love nice tender porter-house steaks with mushrooms; I love thick mutton-chops broiled over a hot fire: but I can’t believe in them, and my conscience won’t allow me to eat them. Do you believe in meat?’ ‘Certainly.’ ‘I don’t see why you say “certainly.” You would be a good deal better off without it. You are filling yourself full of carnal, brutal, murderous passions every time you eat it. The people who eat meat are not half so elevated nor half so teachable as the Edenites.’ ‘The Edenites are possibly too weak and hungry to resist instruction,’ said Mary. ‘They are neither weak nor hungry,’ replied their vice-president, with dignity. ‘They eat milk, and stewed fruit, and all the edible grains nicely boiled. It stands to reason that if you can subdue your earthly, devilish, sensual instincts on anything, you can do it on a diet like that. You can’t fancy an angel or a Mahatma devouring underdone beef.’ ‘No,’ agreed Mistress Mary; ‘but for that matter, the spectacle of an angel eating dried-apple sauce doesn’t appeal to my imagination.’ ‘It’s no joking matter,’ said Mrs. Grubb, with real tears in her eyes. ‘It was my interest in Theosophy that brought me to the Edenic diet. I have good and sufficient motives for denying my appetite, for I’ve got a certain goal to reach, and I’m in earnest.’ ‘Then here’s my hand, and I respect you for it. Oh, how I should like a hot mutton-chop at this moment!—Do forgive me.’