Her step-mother eyed her for a moment or two in silence. Then:
"Well, my dear?" she said. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

"Nothing particular," said Sylvia.

The letters were chiefly letters of congratulation. She read them
with that composure which Mrs. Ingleton most detested, and put them
aside.

"Am I to have no share in the general rejoicing?" she asked at
length, in a voice that trembled with indignation.

Sylvia recognized the tremor. It had been the prelude to many a
storm. She got up and turned to the window. "You can read them
all if you like," she said. "I see Dad on the terrace. I am just
going to speak to him."

She passed out swiftly with the words before her step-mother's
gathering wrath could descend upon her. One of Mrs. Ingleton's
main grievances was that it was so difficult to corner Sylvia when
she wanted to give free vent to her violence.

She watched the girl's slim figure pass out into the pale November
sunshine, and her frown turned to a very bitter smile.

"Ah, my girl, you wait a bit!" she murmured. "You've met your
match, or I'm much mistaken."

The squire was smoking his morning pipe in a sheltered corner. He