'Don't you
stop. You are tired enough, I am sure. I will wake my maid, and
we'll get them washed and put to bed at once.'
She was closing the door, when Falconer turned.
'Oh! Miss St. John,' he said, 'I was forgetting. Could you go down
to No. 13 in Soap Lane--you know it, don't you?'
'Yes. Quite well.'
'Ask for a girl called Nell--a plain, pock-marked young girl--and
take her away with you.'
'When shall I go?'
'To-morrow morning. But I shall be in. Don't go till you see me.
Good-night.'
We took our leave without more ado.
'What a lady-like woman to be the matron of an asylum!' I said.
Falconer gave a little laugh.
'That is no asylum. It is a private house.'
'And the lady?'
'Is a lady of private means,' he answered, 'who prefers Bloomsbury
to Belgravia, because it is easier to do noble work in it. Her
heaven is on the confines of hell.'
'What will she do with those children?'
'Kiss them and wash them and put them to bed.'
'And after that?'
'Give them bread and milk in the morning.'
'And after that?'
'Oh! there's time enough. We'll see. There's only one thing she
won't do.'
'What is that?'
'Turn them out again.'
A pause followed, I cogitating.
'Are you a society, then?' I asked at length.
'No. At least we don't use the word. And certainly no other society
would acknowledge us.'
'What are you, then?'
'Why should we be anything, so long as we do our work?'
'Don't you think there is some affectation in refusing a name?'
'Yes, if the name belongs to you? Not otherwise.
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