Ingleton stared a little, then slowly shook his head.  “You’ll never do it, my dear Caroline.”

“I will do it if it is your wish,” said Mrs. Ingleton firmly.

He looked at her with a touch of uneasiness.  “I don’t want the child coerced.”

She laughed again.  “What an idea!  Are children ever coerced in these days?  It’s usually the parents who have to put up with that sort of treatment.  Now tell me about the other man.  What and where is he?”

Ingleton told her with surly reluctance.  “Oh, he was a handsome young beggar she met five years ago—­the son of my then bailiff, as a matter of fact.  The boy had had a fairly decent education; he was a gentleman, but he wasn’t good enough for my Sylvia, had no prospects of any sort.  And so I put my foot down.”

Mrs. Ingleton smiled with her thin, hard lips, but no gleam of humour reached her eyes.  “With the result, I suppose, that she has been carrying on with him ever since.”

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 child?” he said.

“My dear Gilbert, don’t you realize that the young lady is more than capable of holding her own against me or anyone else?” protested Mrs. Ingleton.

“And yet you say you can manage her?” he said.

“Well, so I can, if you will only trust to my discretion.  What she needs is a little judicious treatment, and that is what I intend to give her.  Come, that is understood, isn’t it?  It is perfectly outrageous that she should have ridden roughshod over you so long.  A chit like that!  And think how pleasant it will be for everyone when she is settled and provided for.  Dear me!  I shall feel as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders.  We shall really enjoy ourselves then.”