“I think it would be a pity to spoil the group,” said Brand.  “The country should subscribe to keep them as they are—­the perfect picture of an English family.  However, to return:  you must promise me not to commit any of these extravagances again.  If any appeal is made to you, come to me.”

But here a thought seemed to strike him;

“Ah,” he said, “I have something to tell you.  Lind is trying to get me to enter the same grade of officership with himself.  And do you know what the first qualification is?—­that you give up every penny you possess in the world.”

“Well?”

“Well!”

The two friends stared at each other—­the one calmly inquisitive, the other astounded.

“I thought you would have burst out laughing!” Brand exclaimed.

“Why?” said the other.  “You have already done more for them—­for us—­than that:  why should you not do all in your power?  Why should you not do all that you can, and while you can?  Look!”

They were standing at the window.  On the other side of the street far below them were some funeral carriages; at this precise moment the coffin was being carried across the pavement.

“That is the end of it.  I say, why shouldn’t you do all that you can, and while you can?”

“Do you want reasons?  Well, one has occurred to me since I came into this room.  A minute ago I said to you that you must not repeat that extravagance; and I said if you were appealed to again you could come to me.  But what if I had already surrendered every penny in the world?  I wish to retain in my own hands at least the power to help my friends.”

“That is only another form of selfishness,” said Lord Evelyn, laughing.  “I fear you are as yet of weak faith, Brand.”

He turned from the light, and went and sunk into the shadow of a great arm-chair.

“Now I know what you are going to do, Evelyn,” said his friend.  “You are going to talk me out of my common-sense; and I will not have it.  I want to show you why it is impossible I should agree to this demand.”

“If you feel it to be impossible, it is impossible.”

“My dear fellow, is it reasonable?”

“I dislike things that are reasonable.”

“There is but one way of getting at you.  Have you thought of Natalie?”

“Ah!” said the other, quickly raising himself into an expectant attitude.

“You will listen now, I suppose, to reason, to common-sense.  Do you think it likely that, with the possibility of her becoming my wife, I am going to throw away this certainty and leave her to all chances of the world?  Lind says that the Society amply provides for its officers.  Very well; that is quite probable.  I tell him that I am not afraid for myself; if I had to think of myself alone, there is no saying what I might not do, even if I were to laugh at myself for doing it.  But how about Natalie?  Lind might die.  I might be sent away to the ends of the earth.  Do you think I am going to leave her at the mercy of a lot of people whom she never saw?”