at
that point, and then went on to say she didn't like the new rules. They
had been drawn up in a hurry and she had only read them after they were
printed. All sorts of things in them----

She seemed to be losing her theme again, and Mr. Graper handed her the
offending card, a big varnished wall placard, with eyelets and tape
complete. She glanced at it. For example, she said, it wasn't her idea
to have fines. (Great and long continued applause.) There was something
she had always disliked about fines. (Renewed applause.) But these
rules could easily be torn up. And as she said this and as the meeting
broke into acquiescence again it occurred to her that there was the card
of rules in her hands, and nothing could be simpler than to tear it up
there and then. It resisted her for a moment, she compressed her lips
and then she had it in halves. This tearing was so satisfactory to her
that she tore it again and then again. As she tore it, she had a
pleasant irrational feeling that she was tearing Mrs. Pembrose. Mr.
Graper's face betrayed his shocked feelings, and the meeting which had
become charged with a strong desire to show how entirely it approved of
her, made a crowning attempt at applause. They hammered umbrellas on the
floor, they clapped hands, they rattled chairs and gave a shrill cheer.
A chair was broken.

"I wish," said Lady Harman when that storm had abated, "you'd come and
look at the Hostel. Couldn't you come next Saturday afternoon? We could
have a stand-up tea and you could see the place and then afterwards your
committee and I--and my husband--could make out a real set of rules...."

She went on for some little time longer, she appealed to them with all
the strength of her honest purpose to help her to make this possible
good thing a real good thing, not to suspect, not to be hard on
her--"and my husband"--not to make a difficult thing impossible, it was
so easy to do that, and when she finished she was in the happiest
possession of her meeting. They came thronging round her with flushed
faces and bright eyes, they wanted to come near her, wanted to touch
her, wanted to assure her that for her they were quite prepared to live
in any kind of place. For her. "You come and talk to us, Lady Harman,"
said one; "_we'll_ show you."

"Nobody hasn't told us, Lady Harman, how these Hostels were _yours_."

"You come and talk to us again, Lady Harman." ...

They didn't wait for the following Saturday. On Monda