“With all my heart--with all my heart--the best of good luck,” said she, and he kissed her, and went away whistling like a successful dissembler. And then there happened the best thing that could befall a man who is inclined to be weak-kneed and who stands in great need of a stiffening. Mr. Dunning, the agent whom he had taken over from the trustees when he had entered into possession of the estate, had had things his own way for something like eleven years; there had been no voice of authority but his own on the estate, and the result of two or three interviews which he had with Mr. Jack Wingfield had been of so pleasing a character that he felt that his voice would continue to give the word of command from the Dan of Dington at one end of the property to the Beersheba of Little Gaddlingworth at the other. He had communicated his estimate of young Wingfield to his enquiring wife by a shrewd shake of the head and a smile. He thought precious little of this young Wingfield. He was therefore all the more surprised when he received a visit the previous day from Farmer Verrall, whom he had installed at the home farm, to acquaint him with the fact that young Mr. Wingfield had practically kicked him out of the place. Mr. Dunning felt that it would never do for him to stand such an insult from a fellow who was nothing more than the owner of the property. He saw clearly that now was the time for him to strike. If he were to submit to such high-handed action without protest he should have no end of trouble in the future. The owner might even go so far as to exercise some authority over his estate. Yes, he would show this young man what was his place. He scarcely waited for young Wingfield to bid him good morning. “Good morning. What’s this I hear about Verrall?” he said, all in a breath. “What’s what you hear about Verrall?” said young Wingfield, after a pause. “This about his being turned out of his farm at a moment’s notice?” And then young Wingfield took the measure of his visitor, and saw with great clearness what was the object of his visit. “Look here, Mr. Dunning,” he said, “if you know all about the matter, it seems hardly necessary for you to bother yourself coming to ask me about it?” “Mr. Wingfield, I’m not accustomed to be treated in this cavalier fashion,” cried the agent. “I think an explanation is due to me.” “Of course an explanation is due to you, Mr. Dunning. I was about to send you a message asking you when it would be convenient for you to drop in on me.”