"I
presume that is the estimable young man who called upon me last
night. Well, well, if you are so intimate, I suppose I shall have
to be too. He was in a great hurry to pay his respects, was he
not?"
Sylvia was staring at her from the other side of the table. "I
meant George the groom," she said coldly after a moment. "Is there
any news, Dad?"
She turned deliberately to him, but before he could speak in answer
Mrs. Ingleton intervened.
"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.
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