"I'm quite looking forward to seeing your dairy, Mr. Dennison," said Miss Durrant. "It must be quite a model from your description."
William Henry turned and stared at her. She was a very handsome young woman, he decided, a brunette, with rich colouring, dark eyes, a ripe mouth, and a flashing smile, and her voice was as pleasing as her face.
"Lord bless you!" he said. "It isn't my dairy—I know nothing about dairying. It's father's."
Miss Durrant laughed merrily.
"Oh, I see!" she said. "You are Mr. Dennison's son. What shall I call you, then?"
"My name is William Henry Dennison," he replied.
"And what do you do, Mr. William?" she asked.
"Look after the farm," replied William Henry. "Father doesn't do much that way now—he's sort of retired. Do you know anything about farming?"
"I love anything about a farm," she answered.
"Do you care for pigs?" he asked, eagerly. "I've been going in a lot for pig-breeding this last year or two, and I've got some of the finest pigs in England. I got a first prize at the Smithfield Show last year; I'll show it you when we get home. There's some interest, now, in breeding prize pigs."