A NEOPHYTE.
Before many months had passed， without the slightest approach to any formal recognition， I found myself one of the church of labour of which Falconer was clearly the bishop.As he is the subject， or rather object of my book， I will now record a fact which may serve to set forth his views more clearly.I gained a knowledge of some of the circumstances， not merely from the friendly confidences of Miss St.John and Falconer， but from being a kind of a Scotch cousin of Lady Janet Gordon， whom I had taken an opportunity of acquainting with the relation.She was old-fashioned enough to acknowledge it even with some eagerness.The ancient clan-feeling is good in this， that it opens a channel whose very existence is a justification for the flow of simply human feelings along all possible levels of social position.And I would there were more of it.Only something better is coming instead of it--a recognition of the infinite brotherhood in Christ.All other relations， all attempts by churches， by associations， by secret societies--of Freemasons and others， are good merely as they tend to destroy themselves in the wider truth； as they teach men to be dissatisfied with their limitations.But I wander； for I mentioned Lady Janet now， merely to account for some of the information I possess concerning Lady Georgina Betterton.
I met her once at my so-called cousin's， whom she patronized as a dear old thing.To my mind， she was worth twenty of her， though she was wrinkled and Scottishly sententious.'A sweet old bat，' was another epithet of Lady Georgina's.But she came to see her， notwithstanding， and did not refuse to share in her nice little dinners， and least of all， when Falconer was of the party， who had been so much taken with Lady Janet's behaviour to the Marquis of Boarshead， just recorded， that he positively cultivated her acquaintance thereafter.
Lady Georgina was of an old family--an aged family， indeed； so old， in fact， that some envious people professed to think it decrepit with age.This， however， may well be questioned if any argument bearing on the point may be drawn from the person of Lady Georgina.
She was at least as tall as Mary St.John， and very handsome--only with somewhat masculine features and expression.She had very sloping shoulders and a long neck， which took its finest curves when she was talking to inferiors： condescension was her forte.Of the admiration of the men， she had had more than enough， although either they were afraid to go farther， or she was hard to please.
She had never contemplated anything admirable long enough to comprehend it； she had never looked up to man or woman with anything like reverence； she saw too quickly and too keenly into the foibles of all who came near her to care to look farther for their virtues.
If she had ever been humbled， and thence taught to look up， she might by this time have been a grand woman， worthy of a great man's worship.She patronized Miss St.John， considerably to her amusement， and nothing to her indignation.Of course she could not understand her.She had a vague notion of how she spent her time；and believing a certain amount of fanaticism essential to religion， wondered how so sensible and ladylike a person as Miss St.John could go in for it.
Meeting Falconer at Lady Janet's， she was taken with him.Possibly she recognized in him a strength that would have made him her master， if he had cared for such a distinction； but nothing she could say attracted more than a passing attention on his part.
Falconer was out of her sphere， and her influences were powerless to reach him.
At length she began to have a glimmering of the relation of labour between Miss St.John and him， and applied to the former for some enlightenment.But Miss St.John was far from explicit， for she had no desire for such assistance as Lady Georgina's.What motives next led her to seek the interview I am now about to record， I cannot satisfactorily explain， but I will hazard a conjecture or two， although I doubt if she understood them thoroughly herself.
She was， if not blasée， at least ennuyée， and began to miss excitement， and feel blindly about her for something to make life interesting.She was gifted with far more capacity than had ever been exercised， and was of a large enough nature to have grown sooner weary of trifles than most women of her class.She might have been an artist， but she drew like a young lady； she might have been a prophetess， and Byron was her greatest poet.It is no wonder that she wanted something she had not got.
Since she had been foiled in her attempt on Miss St.John， which she attributed to jealousy， she had， in quite another circle， heard strange， wonderful， even romantic stories about Falconer and his doings among the poor.A new world seemed to open before her longing gaze--a world， or a calenture， a mirage？ for would she cross the 'wandering fields of barren foam，' to reach the green grass that did wave on the far shore？ the dewless desert to reach the fair water that did lie leagues beyond its pictured sweetness？ But Ithink， mingled with whatever motives she may have had， there must have been some desire to be a nobler， that is a more useful woman than she had been.
She had not any superabundance of feminine delicacy， though she had plenty of good-breeding， and she trusted to her position in society to cover the eccentricity of her present undertaking.
One morning after breakfast she called upon Falconer； and accustomed to visits from all sorts of people， Mrs.Ashton showed her into his sitting-room without even asking her name.She found him at his piano， apologized， in her fashionable drawl， for interrupting his music， and accepted his offer of a chair without a shade of embarrassment.Falconer seated himself and sat waiting.
'I fear the step I have taken will appear strange to you， Mr.
Falconer.Indeed it appears strange to myself.I am afraid it may appear stranger still.'
