It may be wondered that he felt so sure of himself, for the night had still to decide his claims. Andrew, however, had thought it all out in his solitary lodgings, and had put fear from him. He felt his failings and allowed for every one of them, but he knew his merits too, and his testimonials were in his pocket. Strength of purpose was his weak point, and, though the good of humanity was his loadstar, it did not make him quite forget self. It may not be possible to serve both God and mammon, but since Adam the world has been at it. We ought to know by this time. The Society for Doing Without was as immoral as it certainly was illegal. The president's motives were not more disinterested than his actions were defensible. He even deserved punishment. All these things may be. The great social question is not to be solved in a day. It never will be solved if those who take it by the beard are not given an unbiassed hearing. Those were the young Scotchman's views when the president opened the door to him, and what he saw and heard that night strengthened them. It was characteristic of Andrew's host that at such a time he could put himself in the young man's place. He took his hand and looked him in the face more like a physician than a mere acquaintance. Then he drew him aside into an empty room. "Let me be the first to congratulate you," he said; "you are admitted." Andrew took a long breath, and the president considerately turned away his head until the young probationer had regained his composure. Then he proceeded: "The society only asks from its probationers the faith which it has in them. They take no oath. We speak in deeds. The Brotherhood do not recognise the possibility of treachery; but they are prepared to cope with it if it comes. Better far, Andrew Riach, to be in your grave, dead and rotten and forgotten, than a traitor to the cause." The president's voice trembled with solemnity. He stretched forth his hands, slowly repeating the words, "dead and rotten and forgotten," until his wandering eyes came to rest on the young man's neck. Andrew drew back a step and bowed silently, as he had seen many a father do at a christening in the kirk at Wheens. "You will shortly," continued the president, with a return to his ordinary manner, "hear an address on female suffrage from one of the noblest women in the land. It will be your part to listen. To-night you will both hear and see strange things. Say nothing. Evince no surprise. Some members are irritable. Come!" Once more he took Andrew by the hand, and led him into the meeting-room; and still his eyes were fixed on the probationer's neck. There seemed to be something about it that he liked. It was not then, with the committee all around him, but long afterwards at Wheens, that Andrew was struck by the bareness of the chambers. Without the president's presence they had no character.