“Yes, certainly; no doubt.  Well, to return, if you please:  it is a satisfaction you are not disappointed; that you believe we are doing a good work; that you go with us.  Very well.  You have advanced grade by grade; you see nothing to repent of; why not take the final step?”

“I don’t quite understand you,” he said, doubtfully.

“I will explain.  You have given yourself to us—­your time, your labor, your future; but the final step of self-sacrifice—­is it so very difficult?  In many cases it is merely a challenge:  we say, ’Show that you can trust us even for your very livelihood.  Become absolutely dependent on us, even for your food, your drink, your clothes.’  In your case, I admit, it is something more:  it is an invitation to a very considerable self-sacrifice.  All the more proof that you are not afraid.”

“I do not think I am afraid,” said Brand, slowly; “but—­”

“One moment.  The affair is simple.  The officers of our society—­those who govern—­those from whom are chosen the members of the Council—­that Council that is more powerful than any government in Europe—­those officers, I say, are required first of all to surrender every farthing of personal property, so that they shall become absolutely dependent on the Society itself—­”

Brand looked a trifle bewildered:  more than that, resentful and indignant, as if his common-sense had received a shock.

“It is a necessary condition,” Lind continued, without eagerness—­rather as if he were merely enunciating a theory.  “It insures absolute equality; it is a proof of faith.  And you may perceive that, as I am alive, they do not allow one to starve.”

The slight smile that accompanied this remark was meant to be reassuring.  Certainly, Mr. Lind did not starve; if the society of which he was a member enabled him to live as he did in Curzon Street, he had little to complain of.

“You mean,” said George Brand, “that before I enter this highest grade, next to the Council, I must absolutely surrender my entire fortune to you?”

“To the common fund of the Society—­yes,” was the reply; uttered as a matter of course.

“But there is no compulsion?”

“Certainly not.  On this point every one is free.  You may remain in your present grade if you please.”

“Then I confess to you I don’t see why I should change,” Brand said, frankly.  “Cannot I work as well for you just as I am?”

“Perhaps; perhaps not,” said the other, easily.  “But you perceive, further, that the fact of our not exacting subscriptions from the poorer members of our association makes it all the more necessary that we should have voluntary gifts from the richer.  And as regards a surplus of wealth, of what use is that to any one?  Am I not granted as much money as one need reasonably want?  And just now there is more than ever a need of money for the general purposes of the Society:  Lord Evelyn gave us a thousand pounds last week.”