"Now, Sylvia, my love, I have something really rather serious to
say to you. Of course, I fully realize that you are very young and
inexperienced and not likely to think of these things for yourself.
But I must tell you that it is very bad for the servants to have
meals going in the dining-room at all hours. Therefore, my child,
I must ask you to make a point of being punctual--always.
Breakfast is at eight-thirty. Please bear that in mind for the
future!"

Again Sylvia's wide eyes were upon her. They looked her straight
in the face. "Dad and I are never back by eight-thirty when we go
cubbing, are we, Dad?" she said.

The squire cleared his throat, and did not respond.

Mrs. Ingleton smiled. "But we are changing all that," she said.
"At my particular request your dear father has promised me to give
up hunting."

"What?" said Sylvia, and turned upon her father with a red flash in
her eyes. "Dad, is that true?"

He looked at her unwillingly. "Oh, don't make a scene!" he said
irritably. "Your mother is nervous, so I have given it up for the
present, that's all."

"Please don't call Mrs. Ingleton my mother!" said Sylvia, suddenly
deadly calm. "Am I always to hunt alone, then, for the future?"

"You have got--George," smiled Mrs. Ingleton.