“That’s the answer to your problem, Elly,” he said. “There we are. Every girl who doesn’t live at home can live here—with a matron to keep her eye on her.... And properly run, Elly, properly run the thing’s going to pay two or three per cent,—let alone the advertisement for the Stores. “We can easily make these Hostels obligatory on all our girls who don’t live at their own homes,” he said. “That ought to keep them off the streets, if anything can. I don’t see how even Miss Babs Wheeler can have the face to strike against that. “And then we can arrange with some of the big firms, drapers’ shops and all that sort of thing near each hostel, to take over most of our other cubicle space. A lot of them—overflow. “Of course we’ll have to make sure the girls get in at night.” He reached out for a ground floor plan of the Bloomsbury establishment which was to be the first built. “If,” he said, “we were to have a sort of porter’s lodge with a book—and make ’em ring a bell after eleven say—just here....” He took out a silver pencil case and got to work. Lady Harman’s expression as she leant over him became thoughtful. There were points about this project that gave her the greatest misgivings; that matron, keeping her eye on the girls, that carefully selected library, the porter’s bell, these casual allusions to “discipline” that set her thinking of scraps of the Babs Wheeler controversy. There was a regularity, an austerity about this project that chilled her, she hardly knew why. Her own vague intentions had been an amiable, hospitable, agreeably cheap establishment to which the homeless feminine employees in London could resort freely and cheerfully, and it was only very slowly that she perceived that her husband was by no means convinced of the spontaneity of their coming. He seemed always glancing at methods for compelling them to come in and oppressions when that compulsion had succeeded. There had already hovered over several of these anticipatory evenings, his very manifest intention to have very carefully planned “Rules.” She felt there lay ahead of them much possibility for divergence of opinion about these “Rules.” She foresaw a certain narrowness and hardness. She herself had made her fight against the characteristics of Sir Isaac and—perhaps she was lacking in that aristocratic feeling which comes so naturally to most successful middle-class people in England—she could not believe that what she had found bad and suffocating for herself could be agreeable and helpful for her poorer sisters. It occurred to her to try the effect of the scheme upon Susan Burnet. Susan had such a knack of seeing things from unexpected angles. She contrived certain operations upon the study blinds, and then broached the business to Susan casually in the course of an enquiry into the welfare of the Burnet family. Susan was evidently prejudiced against the idea. “Yes,” said Susan after various explanations and exhibitions, “but where’s the home in it?”