"Married?" questioned Mrs. Ingleton, with the air of a ferret
pursuing its quarry down a hole.

"No," said the squire, somewhat reluctantly.

"Ah!" said Mrs. Ingleton, in a tone of satisfaction.

"Won't you have some tea?" said Sylvia's grave voice behind them.

Mrs. Ingleton wheeled. "Bless the child!" she exclaimed. "She has
a face as long as a fiddle. Let us have tea by all means. I am as
hungry as a hunter. I hope there is something really substantial
for us."

"It is less than an hour to dinner," said Sylvia.

She hardly looked at her father. Somehow she had a feeling that he
did not want to meet her eyes.

He sat in almost unbroken silence while she poured out the tea,
"for the last time, dear," as her step-mother jocosely remarked,
and for his sake alone she exerted herself to make polite
conversation with this new mistress of the Manor.

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