Jane tiptoed, and shut the door; and then in a whisper she said: “Girls, I want to tell you. I believe it’s religion. It’s queer, but I believe it is. I heard her talking about praying for somebody down in the hall when I stood up here waiting for my trunk to be unlocked by her brother. She was talking to her little sister, and they both seemed to be praying for something or somebody; and she’s mentioned the church every other breath since we came, and the minister, and—look at there! There’s her Bible with her name in it. I opened it, and looked, and _he_ gave it to her; ‘Cornelia from Arthur’; that’s what it says. And see that card framed over the table? It’s a Christian Endeavor pledge-card. I know for I used to belong when I was a child. She’s going to have the Christian Endeavor society all at the wedding, too. I heard her say the Christian Endeavor chorus was going to sing the wedding march before they came in, and she talks about the minister’s daughter all the time. You may depend on it, it’s religion that’s the matter with Cornie, not being in love. Cornie’s a level-headed girl, and she wouldn’t go out of her head this way just for falling in love. When religion gets into the blood it’s ten times worse than any falling in love ever. I wonder what her Arthur thinks of it. Maybe he means to take it out of her when he gets her good and tied.” “Don’t!” said Ruth sharply. “You make me sick, Jane. I don’t care what it is that has changed Cornie. She’s sweet, I know; that’s all that’s necessary. And, if it’s religion, I wish we all had some of it. I know she looks all the time as if she’d seen a vision, and that’s what precious few other people do. Come, it’s time to take a nap, or we’ll look like withered leaves for this evening. Now stop talking! I’m going to sleep.” The passengers in the parlor-car glanced at the distinguished-looking lady with the sweet smile and happy eyes, and glanced again, and liked to look, there was such joy, such content, such expectancy, in her face. More than one, as the train slowed down at West Philadelphia, and the porter gathered her baggage and escorted her out, sat up from his velvet chair and stretched his neck to see who was meeting this woman to make her so happy since that telegram had been brought to her. They watched until the train passed on and they could see no more—the tall, handsome young man who took her in his arms and kissed her, and the lovely girl in blue organdie with a little lace-edged organdie hat drooping about her sweet face, who greeted her as if she loved her. As far as the eye could reach Mrs. Maxwell’s fellow passengers watched the little bit of human drama, and wondered, and tried to figure out who they were and what relation they bore to one another.