Marcella gave her explanations with a certain stiffness of self-defence.  She and Lady Winterbourne had evolved a scheme for reviving and improving the local industry of straw-plaiting, which after years of decay seemed now on the brink of final disappearance.  The village women who could at present earn a few pence a week by the coarser kinds of work were to be instructed, not only in the finer and better paid sorts, but also in the making up of the plait when done, and the “blocking” of hats and bonnets—­processes hitherto carried on exclusively at one or two large local centres.

“You don’t expect to pay your way?” repeated Mrs. Boyce.  “What, never?”

“Well, we shall give twelve to fourteen shillings a week wages.  We shall find the materials, and the room—­and prices are very low, the whole trade depressed.”

Mrs. Boyce laughed.

“I see.  How many workers do you expect to get together?”

“Oh! eventually, about two hundred in the three villages.  It will regenerate the whole life!” said Marcella, a sudden ray from the inner warmth escaping her, against her will.

Mrs. Boyce smiled again, and turned her work so as to see it better.

“Does Aldous understand what you are letting him in for?”

Marcella flushed.

“Perfectly.  It is ’ransom’—­that’s all.”

“And he is ready to take your view of it?”

“Oh, he thinks us economically unsound, of course,” said Marcella, impatiently.  “So we are.  All care for the human being under the present state of things is economically unsound.  But he likes it no more than I do.”

“Well, lucky for you he has a long purse,” said Mrs. Boyce, lightly.  “But I gather, Marcella, you don’t insist upon his spending it all on straw-plaiting.  He told me yesterday he had taken the Hertford Street house.”

“We shall live quite simply,” said Marcella, quickly.

“What, no carriage?”

Marcella hesitated.

“A carriage saves time.  And if one goes about much, it does not cost so much more than cabs.”

“So you mean to go about much?  Lady Winterbourne talks to me of presenting you in May.”

“That’s Miss Raeburn,” cried Marcella.  “She says I must, and all the family would be scandalised if I didn’t go.  But you can’t imagine—­”

She stopped and took off her hat, pushing the hair back from her forehead.  A look of worry and excitement had replaced the radiant glow of her first resting moments.

“That you like it?” said Mrs. Boyce, bluntly.  “Well, I don’t know.  Most young women like pretty gowns, and great functions, and prominent positions.  I don’t call you an ascetic, Marcella.”

Marcella winced.

“One has to fit oneself to circumstances,” she said proudly.  “One may hate the circumstances, but one can’t escape them.”

“Oh, I don’t think you will hate your circumstances, my dear!  You would be very foolish if you did.  Have you heard finally how much the settlement is to be?”