She had learnt many things since the days of her first rebellion, and she knew now that this matter of the man friend and nothing else in the world is the central issue in the emancipation of women. The difficulty of him is latent in every other restriction of which women complain. The complete emancipation of women will come with complete emancipation of humanity from jealousy—and no sooner. All other emancipations are shams until a woman may go about as freely with this man as with that, and nothing remains for emancipation when she can. In the innocence of her first revolt this question of friendship had seemed to Lady Harman the simplest, most reasonable of minor concessions, but that was simply because Mr. Brumley hadn’t in those days been talking of love to her, nor she been peeping through that once locked door. Now she perceived how entirely Sir Isaac was by his standards justified. And after all that was recognized she remained indisposed to give up Mr. Brumley. Yet her sense of evil things happening in the hostels was a deepening distress. It troubled her so much that she took the disagreeable step of asking Mrs. Pembrose to meet her at the Bloomsbury Hostel and talk out the expulsions. She found that lady alertly defensive, entrenched behind expert knowledge and pretension generally. Her little blue eyes seemed harder than ever, the metallic resonance in her voice more marked, the lisp stronger. “Of course, Lady Harman, if you were to have some practical experience of control——” and “Three times I have given these girls every opportunity—_every_ opportunity.” “It seems so hard to drive these girls out,” repeated Lady Harman. “They’re such human creatures.” “You have to think of the ones who remain. You must—think of the Institution as a Whole.” “I wonder,” said Lady Harman, peering down into profundities for a moment. Below the great truth glimmered and vanished that Institutions were made for man and not man for Institutions. “You see,” she went on, rather to herself than to Mrs. Pembrose, “we shall be away now for a long time.” Mrs. Pembrose betrayed no excesses of grief. “It’s no good for me to interfere and then leave everything....” “That way spells utter disorganization,” said Mrs. Pembrose. “But I wish something could be done to lessen the harshness—to save the pride—of such a girl as Alice Burnet. Practically you tell her she isn’t fit to associate with—the other girls.” “She’s had her choice and warning after warning.” “I daresay she’s—stiff. Oh!—she’s difficult. But—being expelled is bitter.” “I’ve not _expelled_ her—technically.” “She thinks she’s expelled....” “You’d rather perhaps, Lady Harman, that _I_ was expelled.”