She pulled herself together by a strong effort, reminding herself in a flash of all that divided them:—of womanly pride—of Betty Macdonald's presence at the Court—of that vain confidence to Hallin, of which her inmost being must have been ashamed, but that something calming and sacred stole upon her whenever she thought of Hallin, lifting everything concerned with him into a category of its own.
No; let her selfish weakness make no fettering claim upon the man before her. Let her be content with the friendship she had, after all, achieved, that was now doing its kindly best for her.
All these images, like a tumultuous procession, ran through the mind in a moment. He thought, as she sat there with her bent head, the hands clasped round the knee in the way he knew so well, that she was full of her mother, and found it difficult to put what she felt into words.
"But tell me about your plan," he said gently, "if you will."
"Oh! it is nothing," she said hurriedly. "I am afraid you will think it impracticable—perhaps wrong. It's only this: you see, as there is no one depending on me—as I am practically alone—it seemed to me I might make an experiment. Four thousand a year is a great deal more than I need ever spend—than I ought, of course, to spend on myself. I don't think altogether what I used to think. I mean to keep up this house—to make it beautiful, to hand it on, perhaps more beautiful than I found it, to those that come after. And I mean to maintain enough service in it both to keep it in order and to make it a social centre for all the people about—for everybody of all classes, so far as I can. I want it to be a place of amusement and delight and talk to us all—especially to the very poor. After all"—her cheek flushed under the quickening of her thought—"everybody 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?"