very happy here."

Gilbert Ingleton bestowed a somewhat embarrassed salute upon her,
one eye on his daughter. She greeted him sedately the next moment,
and though her face was smiling, her welcome seemed to be frozen at
its source; it held no warmth.

Mrs. Ingleton, tall, handsome, assertive, cast an appraising eye
around the oak-panelled hall. "Dear me! What severe splendour!"
she commented. "I have a great love for cosiness myself. We must
scatter some of those sweet little Italian ornaments about,
Gilbert. You won't know the place when I have done with it. I am
going to take you all in hand and bring you up-to-date."

Her keen dark eyes rested upon her step-daughter with a smile of
peculiar meaning. Sylvia met them with the utmost directness.

"We like simplicity," she said.

Mrs. Ingleton pursed her lips, "Oh, but there is simplicity and
simplicity! Give me warmth, homeliness, and plenty of pretty
things. This place is archaically cold--quite like a convent. And
you, my dear, might be the Sister Superior from your air. Now,
Gilbert darling, you and I are going to be very firm with this
child. I can plainly see she needs a guiding hand. She has had
much too much responsibility for so young a girl. We are going to
alter all that. We are going to make her very happy--as well as
good."

She tapped Sylvia's shoulder with smiling significance, looking at