With such pleasant conversation they whiled the time away until they came in sight of Five Oaks Farm, on beholding which Miss Durrant was immediately lost in admiration, saying that it was the finest old house she had ever seen, and that it would be a delight to live in it.
"Some of it's over five hundred years old," said William Henry. "And our family built it. We don't rent our land, you know—it's our own. Six hundred acres there are, and uncommon good land too."
With that he handed over Miss Durrant to his mother, who was obviously as surprised at her appearance as he had been, and then drove round to the stables, still wondering how a lady came to be a dairymaid.
"And I'm sure I don't know, Matthew," said Mrs. Dennison to her husband that night in the privacy of their own chamber, "I really don't know how Miss Durrant ought to be treated. You can see for yourself what her manners are—quite the lady. Of course we all know now-a-days that shop-girls and such-like give themselves the airs of duchesses and ape their manners, but Miss Durrant's the real thing, or I'm no judge. Very like her people's come down in the world, and she has to earn her own living, poor thing!"
"Well, never you mind, Jane Ann," said Matthew. "Lady or no lady, she's my dairy-maid, and all that I ask of her is that she does her work to my satisfaction. If she's a lady, you'll see that she'll always bear in mind that her present position is that of a dairymaid, and she'll behave according. We'll see what the morrow brings forth."
What the morrow brought forth was the spectacle of the dairymaid, duly attired in professional garments of spotless hue, busily engaged in the performance of her duties. Matthew spent all the morning with her in the dairy, and came in to dinner beaming with satisfaction.
"She's a regular clinker, is that lass!" he exclaimed to his wife and son. "I've found a perfect treasure."
The perfect treasure settled down into her new life with remarkable readiness. She accepted the arrangements which Mrs. Dennison had made without demur. Mrs. Dennison, with a woman's keen observation, noted that she was never idle. She was in and about the dairy all day long; at night she worked or read in her own room. She had brought a quantity of books with her; magazines and newspapers were constantly arriving for her. As days went on, Mrs. Dennison decided that Miss Durrant's people had most certainly come down in the world, and that she had had to go out into it to earn her own living.
"Just look how well she's dressed when she goes to church on a Sunday!" she said to Matthew. "None of your gaudy, flaunting dressings-up, but all of the best and quietest, just like the Squire's lady. Eh, dear, there's nobody knows what that poor young woman mayn't have known. Very likely they kept their horses and carriages in better days."
"Doesn't seem to be very much cast down," said Matthew. "The lass is light-hearted enough. But ye women always are fanciful."