There were plenty of reformers: some as truculent as Martin Luther;
others as beaming and benevolent as if the pelting of the world had
only mellowed them, and no amount of denunciatory thunder could sour
the milk of human kindness creaming in their happy hearts. There
were eager women just beginning their protest against the wrongs
that had wrecked their peace; subdued women who had been worsted in
the unequal conflict and given it up; resolute women with "No
surrender" written all over their strong-minded countenances; and
sweet, hopeful women, whose faith in God and man nothing could shake
or sadden.
But to Christie there was only one face worth looking at till David
came, and that was Mr. Power's; for he was a perfect host, and
pervaded the rooms like a genial atmosphere, using the welcome of
eye and hand which needs no language to interpret it, giving to each
guest the intellectual fare he loved, and making their enjoyment his
own.
"Bless the dear man! what should we all do without him?" thought
Christie, following him with grateful eyes, as he led an awkward
youth in rusty black to the statesman whom it had been the desire of
his ambitious soul to meet.
The next minute she proved that she at least could do without the
"dear man;" for David entered the room, and she forgot all about
him.
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