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It was not easy, for Mrs. Ingleton did not want to talk upon indifferent
subjects. Her whole attitude was one of unconcealed triumph. It was
obvious that she meant to enjoy her conquest to the utmost. She was
not in the least tired after her journey; she was one of those people who
never tire. And as soon as she had refreshed herself with tea she
announced her intention of going round the house.
Her husband, however, intervened upon this point, assuring her that
there would be ample time in the morning, and Mrs. Ingleton yielded it
not very gracefully.
She was placed at the head of the table at dinner, but she could not
accept the position without comment.
"Poor little Sylvia! We shall have to make up for this, or I shall never
be forgiven," with an arch look at the squire which completely missed
its mark.
There were no subtleties about Gilbert Ingleton. He was thoroughly
uncomfortable, and his manner proclaimed the fact aloud. If he were
happy with his enchantress away from home, the home atmosphere
completely dispelled all enchantment. Was it the fault of the slim, erect
girl with the red-brown eyes who sat so gravely silent on his right
hand?
He could not in justice accuse her, and yet the strong sense of her
disapproval irritated him. What right had she, his daughter, to sit in
judgment upon him? Surely he was entitled to act for himself--choose
his own course--make his own hell if he wished! It was all quite
unanswerable. He knew she would not have attempted to answer if he

had put it to her, but that very fact made him the more sore. He hated to
feel himself at variance with Sylvia.
"Can't you play something?" he said to her in desperation as they
entered the drawing-room after dinner.
She looked at bun, her wide brows slightly raised.
"Well?" he questioned impatiently.
"Ask--Mrs. Ingleton first!" she said in a rapid whisper.
Mrs. Ingleton caught it, however. She had the keen senses of a lynx.
"Now, Sylvia, my child, come here!" she commanded playfully. "I can't
have you calling me that, you know. If we are going to live together,
we must have absolutely clear understanding between us on all points.
Don't you agree with me, Gilbert?"
Ingleton growled something unintelligible, and made for the open
window.
"Don't go!" said his wife with a touch of peremptoriness. "I want you
here. Tell this dear child that as I have determined to be a mother to her
she is to address me as such!"
Ingleton barely paused. "You must settle that between yourselves," he
said gruffly. "And for heaven's sake, don't fight over it!"
He passed heavily forth, and Sylvia, after a very brief hesitation, sat
down in a chair facing her step-mother.
"I am sorry," she said quietly. "But I can't call you Mother. Anything
else you like to suggest, but not that."
Mrs. Ingleton uttered an unpleasant laugh. "I hope you are going to try
and be sensible, my dear," she said, "for I assure you high-flown
sentiment does not appeal to me in the very least. As head of your
father's house, I must insist upon being treated with due respect. Let me
warn you at the outset, though quite willing to befriend you, I am not a

very patient woman. I am not prepared to put up with any slights."
Her voice lifted gradually as she proceeded till she ended upon a note
that was almost shrill.
Sylvia sat very still. Her hands were clasped tightly about her knee. Her
face was pale, and the red-brown eyes glittered a little, but she betrayed
no other signs of emotion,
"I quite understand," she said after a moment. "But that doesn't solve
the present difficulty, does it? I cannot possibly call you by a name that
is sacred to someone else."
She spoke very quietly, but there was indomitable resolution in her
very calm--a resolution that exasperated Mrs. Ingleton almost beyond
endurance.
She arose with a sweeping gesture. "Oh, very well then," she said.
"You shall call me Madam!"
Sylvia looked up at her. "I think that is quite a good idea," she said in a
tone that somehow stung her hearer, unbearably. "I will do that."
"And don't be impertinent!" she said, beginning to pace to and fro like
an angry tigress. "I will not put up with it, Sylvia. I warn you. You have
been thoroughly spoilt all your life. I know the signs quite well. And
you have come to think that you can do anything you like. But that is
not so any longer. I am mistress here, and I mean to maintain my
position. Any hint of rebellion from you or anyone else I shall punish
with the