Preston bowed with his hand on his heart, “I always like to get the fair sex on my side whenever possible.  If you can put the halter on her, you’ve only to name your price, madam, and it’s yours.”

“Dear me!” said Mrs. Ingleton.  “You’re very generous.”

“I can afford to be,” declared Preston.  “She’s a decent bit of goods—­the only one I’ve ever wanted and couldn’t get.  If you can get the whip-hand of her and drive her my way—­well, it’ll be pretty good business for all concerned.  You like diamonds, hey, madam?”

“Very much,” laughed Mrs. Ingleton coquettishly.  “But you mustn’t make my husband jealous.  Remember that now!”

Preston closed one eye deliberately and poked his tongue into his cheek.  “You leave that to me, my good madam.  Anythin’ of that sort would be the gift of the bridegroom.  See?”

“Oh, quite,” said Mrs. Ingleton.  “I shall certainly do my best for you, Mr. Preston.”

“Good for you!” said Preston jocularly.  “It’s a deal then.  And you play every trump you’ve got!”

“You may depend upon me,” said Mrs. Ingleton.

CHAPTER III

THE WHIP-HAND

“Why isn’t Mr. Preston engaged to Sylvia?” demanded Mrs. Ingleton of her husband as she faced him across the breakfast-table on the following morning.

“He’d like to be,” said Ingleton with his face bent over the morning paper.

“Then why isn’t he?” demanded Mrs. Ingleton with asperity.  “He is a rich country gentleman, and he has a position in the County.  What more could you possibly want for her?”

Reluctantly the squire made answer.  “Oh, I’m willing enough.  He’s quite a decent chap so far as I know.  I dare say he’d make her quite a good husband if she’d have him.  But she won’t.  So there’s an end of that.”

“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Mrs. Ingleton.  “And, pray, why won’t she?”

“Why?  Oh, because there’s another fellow, of course.  There always is,” growled Ingleton.  “Girls never fall in love with the right man.  Haven’t you found that out yet?”

“I have found out,” said Mrs. Ingleton tartly, “that Sylvia is a most wilful and perverse girl, and I think you are very unwise to put up with her whims.  I should be ashamed to have a girl of that age still on my hands.”

“I’d like to know how you’d have managed her any differently,” muttered the squire, without looking up.

Mrs. Ingleton laughed unpleasantly.  “You don’t know much about women, do you, my dear?  Of course I could have managed her differently.  She’d have been comfortably married for the past two years at least if I had been in command.”

Ingleton looked sourly incredulous.  “You don’t know Sylvia,” he observed.  “She has a will like cast-iron.  You’d never move her.”

Mrs. Ingleton tossed her head.  “Never?  Well, look here!  If you want the girl to marry that really charming Mr. Preston, I’ll undertake that she shall—­and that within a year.  How is that?”