Ingleton looked sourly incredulous. "You don't know Sylvia," he
observed. "She has a will like cast-iron. You'd never move her."

Mrs. Ingleton tossed her head. "Never? Well, look here! If you
want the girl to marry that really charming Mr. Preston, I'll
undertake that she shall--and that within a year. How is that?"

Ingleton stared a little, then slowly shook his head. "You'll
never do it, my dear Caroline."

"I will do it if it is your wish," said Mrs. Ingleton firmly.

He looked at her with a touch of uneasiness. "I don't want the
child coerced."

She laughed again. "What an idea! Are children ever coerced in
these days? It's usually the parents who have to put up with that
sort of treatment. Now tell me about the other man. What and
where is he?"

Ingleton told her with surly reluctance. "Oh, he was a handsome
young beggar she met five years ago--the son of my then bailiff, as
a matter of fact. The boy had had a fairly decent education; he
was a gentleman, but he wasn't good enough for my Sylvia, had no
prospects of any sort. And so I put my foot down."

Mrs. Ingleton smiled with her thin, hard lips, but no gleam of
humour reached her eyes. "With the result, I suppose, that she has
been carrying on with him ever since."