“A sacred swindle, this particular one was, my dear mother. Anyhow, the young woman is here and I have met her, and I don’t think I ever met a more clearheaded young woman. She practically runs that big dairy of her father’s off her own bat--they send a thousand gallons of milk to London every morning.” In a moment she perceived what was the origin of her son’s zeal in the matter of dairy work; her heart sank. But she made no sign. She only remarked: “A thousand gallons! Surely that is impossible, Jack! A thousand----” “It’s a fact. It’s by far the biggest dairy in the county. I am going up the hill to see it one of these days; and meantime----” He paused, and she looked up from the old lace that she was mending--she looked up interrogatively. “Meantime I want her to give me a hint or two, and I should like, if you don’t mind, to ask her to visit you.” “Is that necessary, do you think? Wouldn’t she feel more at home if she looked in at the farm? She could then see in a moment at what end to begin to work as regards your improvements.” “I think that she would feel at home anywhere or in any society,” said he. “You would agree with me if you saw her and had a chat. She is really a very clever girl.” Jack Wingfield’s mother had a natural antipathy to clever girls. She had met a few in the course of her life with a reputation for cleverness, and for some reason or other the impression that she had acquired of them and their ways was that a clever girl was another name for a scheming girl, and that whether she was called clever or scheming she was an unscrupulous girl. That was why she shook her head, saying: “I’m not sure that clever girls are quite at home in my company, Jack. I know that I am never at home in theirs.” “And if you’re not I’m sure that I’m not,” said he. “But you’ll not find that Miss Priscilla Wadhurst is that sort of a clever girl.” Mrs. Wingfield felt that if the young woman had impressed upon her son the fact that she was a clever girl, but not that sort of a clever girl, she was the cleverest girl of all; but she herself, being possessed of a certain share of this particular quality, knew perfectly well that in the way of a man with a maid there is nothing so stimulating as opposition, especially reasonable opposition, so she hastened to assure him that of course she should be greatly pleased if Mrs.--or, as she wished to be called, Miss Wadhurst--would call upon her; and the son, without being a clever man, had still no difficulty in perceiving that his mother was afraid to show any further opposition to his suggestion lest mischief might come of it. But he only said, “That’s all right, then. I think she may come, though I’m not quite sure.” “I don’t suppose that she would find a visit to an old woman who has lived away from everything in the world for so long very attractive,” she remarked. “Have you asked this young person to advise you as to the dairy?”