“So you see,” he finally concluded, “it’s just as I said a few minutes ago.  I can manufacture bearings, but I can’t manufacture men!”

From behind the roses then a patient voice spoke.

“You don’t have to manufacture men.  We don’t need them.”

Uncle Stanley gave the judge a look that seemed to say, “Listen to the woman of it!  Lord help us men when we have to deal with women!” And aloud in quite a humouring tone he said, “We don’t need men?  Then who’s to do the work?”

Mary moved the vase so she could have a good look at him.

“Women,” she replied.  “They can do the work.  Yes, women,” said she.

Again they looked at each other, those two, with the careful glance with which you might expect two duellists to regard each other—­two duellists who had a premonition that one day they would surely cross their swords.  And again Uncle Stanley was the first to look away.

“Women!” he thought.  “A fine muddle there’ll he!”

In fancy he saw the company’s organization breaking down, its output decreasing, its product rejected for imperfections.  Of course he knew that women were employed in textile mills and match-box factories and gum-and-glue places like that where they couldn’t afford to employ men, and had no need for accuracy.  But women at Spencer & Sons!  Whose boast had always been its accuracy!  Where every inch was divided into a thousand parts!

“She’s hanging herself with her own rope,” he concluded.  “I’ll say no more.”

Mary turned to the judge.

“You might make a minute of that,” she said.

Half turning, she chanced to catch a glimpse of Uncle Stanley’s satisfaction.

“And you might say this,” she quietly added, “that Miss Spencer was placed in charge of the women’s department, with full authority to settle all questions that might arise.”

“That’s all?” asked Uncle Stanley.

“I think that’s all this afternoon,” she said.

He turned to the judge as one man to another, and made a sweeping gesture toward the portraits on the walls, now half buried in the shadows of approaching evening.

“I wonder what they would think of women working here?” he said in a significant tone.

Mary thought that over.

“I wonder what they would think of this?” she suddenly asked.

She switched on the electric light and as though by magic a soft white radiance flooded the room.

“Would they want to go back to candles?” she asked.

CHAPTER XVII

Later, the thing which Mary always thought of first was the ease with which the change was accomplished.

First of all she called in Archey Forbes and told him her plan.

“I’m going to make you chief of staff,” she said; “that is—­if you’d care for the place.”

He coloured with pleasure—­not quite as gorgeously as he once did—­but quite enough to be noticeable.