on the estate, in their different degree, has contributed to this house, in some sense, for generations.  I want it to come into their lives—­to make it their possession, their pride,—­as well as mine.  But then that isn’t all.  The people here can enjoy nothing, use nothing, till they have a worthier life of their own.  Wages here, you know, are terribly low, much lower”—­she added timidly—­“than with you.  They are, as a rule, eleven or twelve shillings a week.  Now there seem to be about one hundred and sixty labourers on the estate altogether, in the farmers’ employment and in our own.  Some, of course, are boys, and some old men earning a half-wage.  Mr. Craven and I have worked it out, and we find that an average weekly increase of five shillings per head—­which would give the men of full age and in full work about a pound a week—­would work out at about two thousand a year.”

She paused a moment, trying to put her further statement into its best order.

“Your farmers, you know,” he said, smiling, after a pause, “will be your chief difficulty.”

“Of course!  But I thought of calling a meeting of them.  I have discussed it with Mr. French—­of course he thinks me mad!—­but he gave me some advice.  I should propose to them all fresh leases, with certain small advantages that Louis Craven thinks would tempt them, at a reduced rental exactly answering to the rise in wages.  Then, in return they must accept a sort of fair-wage clause, binding them to pay henceforward the standard wage of the estate.”

She looked up, her face expressing urgent though silent interrogation.

“You must remember,” he said quickly, “that though the estate is recovering, and rents have been fairly paid about here during the last eighteen months, you may be called upon at any moment to make the reductions which hampered your uncle.  These reductions will, of course, fall upon you as before, seeing that the farmers, in a different way, will be paying as much as before.  Have you left margin enough?”

“I think so,” she said eagerly.  “I shall live here very simply, and accumulate all the reserve fund I can.  I have set all my heart upon it.  I know there are not many people could do such a thing—­other obligations would, must, come first.  And it may turn out a mistake.  But—­whatever happens—­whatever any of us, Socialists or not, may hope for in the future—­here one is with one’s conscience, and one’s money, and these people, who like oneself have but the one life?  In all labour, it is the modern question, isn’t it?—­how much of the product of labour the workman can extract from the employer?  About here there is no union to act for the labourers—­they have practically no power.  But in the future, we must surely hope they will combine, that they will be stronger—­strong enough to force a decent wage.  What ought to prevent my free will anticipating a moment—­since I can do it—­that we all want to see?”