He spoke with manifest effort.  “You won’t go with my consent.”

“No?” said Sylvia.  “Yet—­you would never respect me again if I stayed.  I could never respect myself.”  She glanced over her shoulder at the door which Mrs. Ingleton was violently shaking.  “You can let her out,” she said contemptuously.  “I have had my turn.  I leave her—­in possession.”  She turned to go to the stairs, then abruptly checked herself, stepped up to her father, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him.  The anger had gone out of her eyes.  “Good-bye, Dad!  Think of me sometimes!” she said.

And with that she was gone, passing Preston by as though she saw him not, and ascending the stairs quickly, but wholly without agitation.  They heard her firm, light tread along the corridor above.  Then with a hunch of the shoulders the squire turned and unlocked the boudoir door.

Mrs. Ingleton burst forth in a fury.  “You cad to keep me boxed up here with that little serpent pouring all sorts of poison into your ears!  Where is she?  Where is she?  I’ll give her such a trouncing as she’s never had before!”

But Ingleton stretched an arm in front of her, barring the way.  His face was grim and unyielding.  “No, you won’t!” he said.  “You’ll leave her alone.  She’s my daughter—­not yours.  And you’ll not interfere with her any further.”

There was a finality in his tone.  Mrs. Ingleton stopped short, glaring at him.

“You take her part, do you?” she demanded.

“On this occasion—­yes, I do,” said the squire.

“And what about me?” said Preston.

Ingleton looked at him—­still barring his wife’s progress—­with a faint, sardonic smile.  “Well, she seems to have given you the boot, anyway.  If I were in your place, I should—­quit.”

“She’ll repent it!” raved Mrs. Ingleton.  “Oh, she will repent it bitterly!”

“Very likely,” conceded Ingleton.  “But she’s kicked over the traces now, and that fact won’t pull her up—­anyhow, at present,”

Mrs. Ingleton’s look held fierce resentment.  “Are you going to let her go?” she said.

He shrugged his shoulders.  “Seeing I can’t help myself, I suppose I shall.  There’s no sense in making a fuss now.  It’s done, so you leave her alone!”

Mrs. Ingleton turned upon Preston.  “You can bring an action for breach of promise!” she said.  “I’ll support you.”

He made her an ironical bow.  “You are more than kind,” he said.  “But—­I think I shall get on better for the future without your support.”

And with the words he turned on his heel and went out.

“Hateful person!” cried Mrs. Ingleton.  “Gilbert, he has insulted me!  Go after him and kick him!  Gilbert!  How dare you?”

Ingleton was quietly but firmly impelling her back into the boudoir.  “You go and sit down!” he said.  “Sit down and be quiet!  There’s been enough of this.”