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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!
Her reason knew that she had nothing to forgive; her religious sense, her conception of God, obliged her to believe that Dion had been God's instrument when he had killed his child; but something within her refused him pardon. Perhaps she felt that pardon could only mean one thing reconciliation. And now had come Lady Ingleton's revelation.
They had dinner in Bohemian fashion on a small round table in Lady Ingleton's boudoir, and were waited upon by Sir Carey's valet, a middle-aged Italian who had been for many years in his service and who had succeeded, in the way of Italian servants, in becoming one of the family. The Pekinese lay around solaced by the arrival of their mistress and of their doyenne.
"Well, not at present, or I shouldn't be going to the inn." "Down here on business, I reckon? I was a bagman myself once." "You're wrong again. I've been down to see my property, if you want to know." "Large estate, no doubt? Anywhere near my friend Ingleton's plot, now?" Mr Ratman stared at the stranger with something like consternation. "Ingleton!" he exclaimed. "What do you know of Ingleton?"
The housekeeper, who since Mrs Ingleton's death had assumed the moral direction of the young lady, had expostulated with her in no mild terms on the iniquity of young ladies playing football, even of a funereal order, and she felt it very treacherous on the part of the faithless Tom to divulge her ill-doings now. She felt reassured, however, when Mr Armstrong smiled grimly.
Leith's getting Jimmy on in Greek." Sometimes she would add: "Mr. Leith loves boys, and since his own child died so sadly I think he's taken to Jimmy more than ever." Soon people began to talk of Dion Leith as "Jimmy Clarke's holiday tutor." Once, when this was said in Lady Ingleton's drawing-room at Therapia, she murmured: "I don't think it quite amounts to that. Mr.
She passed out swiftly with the words before her step-mother's gathering wrath could descend upon her. One of Mrs. Ingleton's main grievances was that it was so difficult to corner Sylvia when she wanted to give free vent to her violence. She watched the girl's slim figure pass out into the pale November sunshine, and her frown turned to a very bitter smile.
"I had made up my mind to begin again, to lay hold on some sort of real life," he continued, after a pause. "I was determined to face things. I called at Therapia. I accepted Lady Ingleton's invitation. I've done all I can to make a new start. But it's no use. I can't keep it up. I haven't the force for it. It was hell being with happy people." "You mean the Ingletons. Yes, they are very happy."
What business is it of yours, Gowan Barbour, or of Carmel Ingleton's either? Cheek!" "It is our business!" flared Carmel, as indignant as Gowan. "It's horribly mean to make friends with any one, and hear all her secrets, and then go and make fun of them!" "It's playing it low!" added Gowan, determined to speak her mind for once.
"Hullo!" thought the tutor, "has the bank stopped payment, or the Maxfield securities been robbed?" "Well, sir?" "It's a private matter, and I should not mention it if it were not for the talk which is going to and fro about young Mr Ingleton's lost brother. I understand there's a claimant for the title, and not a very eligible one." "On the contrary, most ineligible," said the tutor.
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