But if the Marias show an uncanny quickness in judging the points of contact between the social layers, it is not the Marias who make the layers in the first place. These are the work of all women equally, as naturally made as birds’ nests, but for the protection of themselves rather than of their young. Two men may meet at the office or the club, day in day out, for years without in the least becoming involved in one another’s domestic circumstances or becoming aware of one another’s native layers. But it is impossible for women to meet casually for long without a degree of mutual implication which can never be undone. One visit by a woman to another woman’s home forms a link which the return of that visit closes irrevocably; it can thereafter neither be ignored nor broken without pain: whereas a man, especially a bachelor, may flit for ever like a butterfly, sipping in all freedom the honey where he finds it. At the bottom of this difference is the instinct of the home, which is so peculiarly strong in Englishwomen. A home must have stability and a definite position with regard to other homes, it cannot vaguely exist in an indeterminate social latitude and longitude. As map-readers would say, its coordinates must be settled and cannot be changed without an upheaval. Stability, moreover, is not the only quality of a home to women: they cherish its explanatory quality also. Away from their homes they feel vague and unattached, like travellers without passports, presenting rather a questionable appearance, dependent for recognition rather on the goodwill of others than on their own indubitable claims. In their homes they are solid and substantial, answering every question before it is asked, proof against all error, in a settled place and status with all circumstances and attachments stretching obviously away to the limits of vision. It is to the Englishwoman, far more than to the English man, that home is a castle.