his right hand?

He could not in justice accuse her, and yet the strong sense of her
disapproval irritated him. What right had she, his daughter, to
sit in judgment upon him? Surely he was entitled to act for
himself--choose his own course--make his own hell if he wished! It
was all quite unanswerable. He knew she would not have attempted
to answer if he had put it to her, but that very fact made him the
more sore. He hated to feel himself at variance with Sylvia.

"Can't you play something?" he said to her in desperation as they
entered the drawing-room after dinner.

She looked at bun, her wide brows slightly raised.

"Well?" he questioned impatiently.

"Ask--Mrs. Ingleton first!" she said in a rapid whisper.

Mrs. Ingleton caught it, however. She had the keen senses of a
lynx. "Now, Sylvia, my child, come here!" she commanded playfully.
"I can't have you calling me that, you know. If we are going to
live together, we must have absolutely clear understanding between
us on all points. Don't you agree with me, Gilbert?"

Ingleton growled something unintelligible, and made for the open
window.

"Don't go!" said his wife with a touch of peremptoriness. "I want
you here. Tell this dear child that as I have determined to be a
mother to her she is to address me as such!"

Ingleton barely paused. "You must settle that between yourselves,"
he said gruffly. "And for heaven's sake, don't fight over it!"

He passed heavily forth, and Sylvia, after a very brief hesitation,
sat down in a chair facing her step-mother.

"I am sorry," she said quietly. "But I can't call you Mother.
Anything else you like to suggest, but not that."

Mrs. Ingleton uttered an unpleasant laugh. "I hope you are going
to try and be sensible, my dear," she said, "for I assure you
high-flown sentiment does not appeal to me in the very least. As
head of your father's house, I must insist upon being treated with
due respect. Let me warn you at the outset, though quite willing
to befriend you, I am not a very patient woman. I am not prepared
to put up with any slights."

Her voice lifted gradually as she proceeded till she ended upon a
note that was almost shrill.

Sylvia sat very still. Her hands were clasped tightly about her
knee. Her face was pale, and the red-brown eyes glittered a
little, but she betrayed no other signs of emotion,

"I quite understand," she said after a moment. "But that doesn't
solve the present