It was not easy, for Mrs. Ingleton did not want to talk upon
indifferent subjects. Her whole attitude was one of unconcealed
triumph. It was obvious that she meant to enjoy her conquest to
the utmost. She was not in the least tired after her journey; she
was one of those people who never tire. And as soon as she had
refreshed herself with tea she announced her intention of going
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.
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