“The whole thing is a home.” “Barracks _I_ call it,” said Susan. “Nobody ever felt at home in a room coloured up like that—and no curtains, nor vallances, nor toilet covers, nor anywhere where a girl can hang a photograph or anything. What girl’s going to feel at home in a strange place like that?” “They ought to be able to hang up photographs,” said Lady Harman, making a mental note of it. “And of course there’ll be all sorts of Rules.” “_Some_ rules.” “Homes, real homes don’t have Rules. And I daresay—Fines.” “No, there shan’t be any Fines,” said Lady Harman quickly. “I’ll see to that.” “You got to back up rules somehow—once you got ’em,” said Susan. “And when you get a crowd, and no father and mother, and no proper family feeling, I suppose there’s got to be Rules.” Lady Harman pointed out various advantages of the project. “I’m not saying it isn’t cheap and healthy and social,” said Susan, “and if it isn’t too strict I expect you’ll get plenty of girls to come to it, but at the best it’s an Institution, Lady Harman. It’s going to be an Institution. That’s what it’s going to be.” She held the front elevation of the Bloomsbury Hostel in her hand and reflected. “Of course for my part, I’d rather lodge with nice struggling believing Christian people anywhere than go into a place like that. It’s the feeling of freedom, of being yourself and on your own. Even if the water wasn’t laid on and I had to fetch it myself.... If girls were paid properly there wouldn’t be any need of such places, none at all. It’s the poverty makes ’em what they are.... And after all, somebody’s got to lose the lodgers if this place gets them. Suppose this sort of thing grows up all over the place, it’ll just be the story of the little bakers and little grocers and all those people over again. Why in London there are thousands of people just keep a home together by letting two or three rooms or boarding someone—and it stands to reason, they’ll have to take less or lose the lodgers if this kind of thing’s going to be done. Nobody isn’t going to build a Hostel for them.” “No,” said Lady Harman, “I never thought of them.” “Lots of ’em haven’t anything in the world but their bits of furniture and their lease and there they are stuck and tied. There’s Aunt Hannah, Father’s sister, she’s like that. Sleeps in the basement and works and slaves, and often I’ve had to lend her ten shillings to pay the rent with, through her not being full. This sort of place isn’t going to do much good to her.” Lady Harman surveyed the plan rather blankly. “I suppose it isn’t.”