“But will the men let you?” she asked.

“We shan’t ask them. We shall do it while they aren’t looking: for their own good, to save the industry.”

“For your own good too,” she said.

“Naturally! For the good of everybody. But for their good even more than mine. I can live without the pits. They can’t. They’ll starve if there are no pits. I’ve got other provision.”

They looked up the shallow valley at the mine, and beyond it, at the black-lidded houses of Tevershall crawling like some serpent up the hill. From the old brown church the bells were ringing: Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!

“But will the men let you dictate terms?” she said.

“My dear, they will have to: if one does it gently.”

“But mightn’t there be a mutual understanding?”