She managed to clip five minutes off his waiting, but he did not think it necessary to applaud her achievement. It was an excellent meal and he did ample justice to it, scarcely speaking a word--certainly no word that had not a direct bearing upon the joint before him. It was not until the cheese was being brought into the room that she noticed the marks of a smile on his face. (She wondered if he saw the marks of something else on hers.) “A funny thing has happened,” said he. “You remember that we were talking some time ago about Mr. Dunning and his pigheadedness in letting Glyn give up his farm rather than allow him a year’s rent in starting a market garden? Well, it seems that young Wingfield has been out at the farm and has come to the conclusion that Dunning did wrong, and down he came upon Dunning like a sack of potatoes the other morning, accusing him of cheating him out of two years’ rent and so forth; and then nothing would do him but he looks up Verrall at the Manor Farm, and makes it pretty lively for everyone there, winding up by turning out Verrall neck and crop. I saw Verrall just now at Gollingford looking for a job. He gave me his version of the story; and I asked him if he hadn’t left out the part about his being drunk--I took it for granted that he had been drunk; he wasn’t many hours off being drunk at eleven this morning. He was, I fancy, mid-channel between. Wingfield is less of a fool than we fancied. Why are you laughing in that queer way, Priscilla, eh?” “I am laughing because I was about to mention Mr. Wingfield’s name to you, in a way that may possibly make you believe that there’s a great deal more in him than you could believe, for he has been with me all the morning, and long before eight he had asked me to marry him, and I--I--gave him my word--at least, I gave him to understand that I would marry him.” While she was speaking he had cut up his cheese. He paused with a piece on the point of his knife in the act of conveying it to his mouth. It never reached its destination. When she had spoken he did not give a start, nor did he make an exclamation; he simply lowered the point of his knife slowly until the cheese dropped off it, and then he laid the knife across his plate, staring at her all the time. He stared at her, but he could not utter a word. She saw him make the attempt, and smiled. “Of course I have given you a great surprise,” she said; “but I am sure that it must be a pleasant surprise, father. You did not know that I was acquainted with Jack Wingfield.” But her speaking thus easily had not, it appeared, done much to help him. After the lapse of a minute or two, however, she saw a gleam come into his eyes. He groped for his tankard of beer on the table-cloth, for he had not taken his eyes away from her face. Nor did he do so even when he was swallowing his beer; his eyes looking over the rim of the tankard gave him a very comical look.