Ingleton stirred uneasily in his chair. "Well, she hasn't given
him up. They correspond, I believe. But he is far enough away at
present. He is in South Africa. She'll never marry him with my
approval. I'm pretty certain now that the fellow is a rotter."

"She probably deems herself very heroic for sticking to him in
spite of opposition," observed Mrs. Ingleton.

"Very likely," he conceded. "But I think she genuinely cares for
him. That's just the mischief of it. And, unfortunately, in
another couple of years she'll be in a position to please herself.
She inherits a little money from her mother then."

Mrs. Ingleton's smile became more pronounced, revealing her strong
white teeth behind. "You need not look forward so far as that, my
love," she said. "Leave Sylvia entirely to me! I will undertake,
as I said, to have her married to Mr. Preston well within a year.
So you may set your mind at rest on that point."

"He is certainly fond of her," said the squire. "And they both
have sporting tastes. He ought to have a very good chance with her
if only the other fellow could be wiped out."

"Then leave her to me!" said Mrs. Ingleton, rising. "And mind,
dear"--she paused behind her husband's chair and placed large white
hands upon his shoulders--"whatever I do, you are not to interfere.
Is that a bargain?"

Ingleton moved again uncomfortably. "You won't be unkind to the