She smiled down into her husband’s dubious face, and after a moment with a curt sigh he pulled her down and kissed her.  “Well, you’re a woman, you ought to know how to manage your own kind,” he said.  “Sylvia’s mother was an invalid for so long that I expect the child did grow a bit out of hand.  I’ll leave her to you then, Caroline.  If you can manage to marry her to Preston I believe you’ll do her the biggest service possible.”

“Of course I should like to do that!” said Mrs. Ingleton, kissing him loudly.  “Ah!  Here she comes!  She mustn’t catch us love-making at this hour.  Good morning, my dear child!  What roses to be sure!  No need to ask where you have been.”

Sylvia came in, riding-whip in hand.  Her face was flushed and her eyes shining.

“Had a ripping run, Dad.  You ought to have been there,” she said.  “Good morning!” She paused and kissed him, then turned to her step-mother.  “Good morning, Madam!  I hope the keys have been duly handed over.  I told Mrs. Hadlow to see to it.”

Mrs. Ingleton kissed her effusively.  “You poor child!  I am afraid it is a very sore point with you to part with your authority to me.  The only thing for you to do is to be quick and get a home of your own.”

Sylvia laughed.  “Breakfast is my most pressing need at the present moment.  Winnie carried me beautifully, Dad.  George says she is a positive marvel for her years; dear little soul.”

“George—­George!” repeated Mrs. Ingleton with playful surprise.  “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.  “Dad, is that true?”