His mother never came down to breakfast, but he invariably went to her room to bid her good morning. He thought that now she looked at him narrowly, and he had an intuition that by some means she had come to know of his late hours on the terrace, so like a sensible man, who confesses when he knows he has been found out, he said cheerily:
“I had rather a bad night. I went out upon the terrace when you left me, and, by George! it was dawn—almost daylight—before I got to bed.”
“That was very foolish of you, Jack,” said she. “But I suppose you were thinking about—about—something of importance.”
“That was it,” he assented, with the glibness of the accomplished liar, though he was not a liar but only a lover. “That was it: I was wondering if I had not been a bit too hasty with Verrall. Perhaps I should give him another chance. Well, well; a chap doesn’t like starting life at home by kicking out a man who has been about the place for so long as Verrall has been. Oh, yes; I had a lot to think over. Well, wish me luck.”
“Wish you luck, dear—how?” said the mother.
“How? Don’t you know that I am down to play some giants to-day, and won’t you wish your little Jack—Jack the giant killer—the best of luck?”
“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.