her husband to set his seal to the declaration.

Mr. Ingleton was obviously feeling very uncomfortable. He glanced
at Sylvia almost appealingly.

"I hope we are all going to be happy," he said rather gruffly.
"Don't see why we shouldn't be, I'm sure. I like a quiet life
myself. Got some tea for us, Sylvia?"

Sylvia turned, stiffly unresponsive to her step-mother's
blandishments. "This way," she said, and crossed the hall to the
drawing-room.

It was a beautiful room aglow just then with the rays of the
western sun. Mrs. Ingleton looked all around her with smiling
criticism, and nodded to herself as if seeing her way to many
improvements. She walked to the windows.

"What a funny, old-fashioned garden! Quite medieval! I foresee a
very busy time in store. Who lives on the other side of this
property?"

"Preston--George Preston, the M.F.H.," said her husband, lounging
up behind her. "About the richest man about here. Made his money
on the Turf."

She gave him a quick look. "Is he young?" she asked.

He hesitated, "Not very."