Which of the two prospects was to be preferred? That was the question which she had to decide. It was a case of Scylla and Charybdis--_Priscilla and Charybdis_, she thought; but she went asleep before she had made up her mind on this question. After all, was there any reason for her to keep awake thinking if it was possible that her son, who had run the gauntlet of many young women in search of husbands, and many young women--these were the more dangerous--having husbands of their own already, during the previous four years, was now head and ears in love with a red-faced, brownarmed, blowsy dairymaid? She hoped for the best. CHAPTER XV As for her son, he did not go to bed very soon. He had a good deal to think about apart from that grave step which he had taken in the morning--the first important step he had ever taken before breakfast. As a matter of fact, everything that he had to think about he thought about quite apart from his discharging the drowsy and thirsty Mr. Verrall, though to be sure there was a certain connection between the person whom he had in his mind and his recently-acquired zeal to set his household in order. He had come upon her on the tennis ground when he was about to enter the court for the Mixed Doubles, and she had greeted him with smiles, but with no cry of “You see what I made you do yesterday!” He had asked her at what time she had left the ground the previous day, and she had said “Just after your match.” “You saw it, then?” “Oh, yes, I saw it. You surprised poor Mr. Glenister.” “And anyone else?” “Probably yourself.” “Probably everyone on the ground except you.” “I am glad you except me.” “I could swear by the horns of the altar that you were not a bit surprised.” “And you would not perjure yourself--I’m not sure if the horns of the altar are binding as a form of oath; but anyhow, you would have been right. I did not fancy for a moment that my judgment as a prophetess was in jeopardy when Mr. Glenister took two or three games from you.” “Then you watched it all?” “Every stroke after the first couple of sets.” “That was very nice of you. I kicked out Farmer Verrall before breakfast this morning.” “What, the manager of your farm?” “There was no help for it. I went over the place yesterday afternoon, and I saw with half an eye that he had allowed the whole farm to go to the dogs--to the greyhounds.” “The greyhounds? You are coming on, Mr. Wingfield. We shall have you running a dairy farm yourself and taking away our bread and butter--certainly the butter--if we don’t look out.”