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.