The Top of the World by Ethel M. Dell

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Sylvia turned round, disgust in every line, and walked to the
window. "I will find Dad," she said.

Preston looked after her, standing with legs wide apart on the
hearth-rug. "It's none of my fault, I assure you," he said. "I've
been tryin' to rope her for the last two years. But she's so damn'
shy. Can't get near her, by George."

"Really?" smiled Mrs. Ingleton. "Perhaps you have not gone quite
the right way to work. I think I shall have to take a hand in the
game and see what I can do."

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?"

Ingleton stared a little, then slowly shook his head. "You'll
never do it, my dear Caroline."

"I will do it if it is your wish," said Mrs. Ingleton firmly.

He looked at her with a touch of uneasiness. "I don't want the
child coerced."

She laughed again. "What an idea! Are children ever coerced in
these days? It's usually the parents who have to put up with that
sort of treatment. Now tell me about the other man. What and
where is he?"

Ingleton told her with surly reluctance. "Oh, he was a handsome
young beggar she met five years ago--the son of my then bailiff, as
a matter of fact. The boy had had a fairly decent education; he
was a gentleman, but he wasn't good enough for my Sylvia, had no
prospects of any sort. And so I put my foot down."

Mrs. Ingleton smiled with her thin, hard lips, but no gleam of
humour reached her eyes. "With the result, I suppose, that she has
been carrying on with him ever since."

Ingleton stirred uneasily in his chair. "Well, she hasn't given
him up. They correspond, I believe. But he is far enough away at
present. He is in South Africa. She'll never marry him with my
approval. I'm pretty certain now that the fellow is a rotter."

"She probably deems herself very heroic for sticking to him in
spite of opposition," observed Mrs. Ingleton.

"Very likely," he conceded. "But I think she genuinely cares for
him. 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! I will undertake,
as I said, to have her married to Mr. Preston well within a year.
So you may set your mind at rest on that point."

"He is certainly fond of her," said the squire. "And they both
have sporting tastes. He ought to have a very good chance with her
if only the other fellow could be wiped out."

"Then leave her to me!" said Mrs. Ingleton, rising. "And mind,
dear"--she paused behind her husband's chair and placed large white
hands upon his shoulders--"whatever I do, you are not to interfere.
Is that a bargain?"

Ingleton moved again uncomfortably. "You won't be unkind to the
child?" he said.

"My dear Gilbert, don't you realize that the young lady is more
than capable of holding her own against me or anyone else?"
protested Mrs. Ingleton.

"And yet you say you can manage her?" he said.

"Well, so I can, if you will only trust to my discretion. What she
needs is a little judicious treatment, and that is what I intend to
give her. Come, that is understood, isn't it? It is perfectly
outrageous that she should have ridden roughshod over you so long.
A chit like that! And think how pleasant it will be for everyone
when she is settled and provided for. Dear me! I shall feel as if
a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. We shall really
enjoy ourselves then."

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?"

He looked at her unwillingly. "Oh, don't make a scene!" he said
irritably. "Your mother is nervous, so I have given it up for the
present, that's all."

"Please don't call Mrs. Ingleton my mother!" said Sylvia, suddenly
deadly calm. "Am I always to hunt alone, then, for the future?"

"You have got--George," smiled Mrs. Ingleton.

Sylvia's eyes fell abruptly from her father's face, but they did
not return to her step-mother. She turned away to the sideboard,
and helped herself from a dish that stood there. In absolute
silence she sat down at the table and began to eat.

Her father sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment or two, then
got up with a non-committal, "Well!" gathered up his letters, and
tramped from the room.

Mrs. Ingleton took up the paper and perused it, humming. Sylvia
ate her breakfast in dead silence.

She rose finally to pour herself out some coffee, and at the
movement her step-mother looked up. There was a glitter in her
hard grey eyes that somewhat belied the smile she sought to assume.
"Now, my dear," she said, in the tone of one lecturing a refractory
child, "you were a very wilful and impertinent girl last night. I
told you I should punish you, and I have kept my word. I do not
advise you to aggravate the offence by sulking."

"Will you tell me what you mean?" said Sylvia, standing stiff and
straight before her.

Mrs. Ingleton slightly shrugged her shoulders. "You are behaving
like a child of six, and really, if you go on, you will provoke me
into treating you as such. The attitude you have chosen to adopt
is neither sensible nor dignified, let me tell you. You resent my
presence here. Very well; but you cannot prevent it. Would it not
be much wiser of you either to submit to my authority or----"

"Or?" repeated Sylvia icily.

"Or take the obvious course of providing yourself with a home
elsewhere," said Mrs. Ingleton.

Sylvia put up a quick hand to her throat. She was breathing very
quickly. "You wish to force me to marry that horrible Preston
man?" she said.

"By no means, my dear," smiled Mrs. Ingleton. "But you might do a
good deal worse. I tell you frankly, you will be very much
underdog as long as you elect to remain in this establishment. Oh
yes!" She suddenly rose to her full majestic height, dwarfing the
girl before her with conscious triumph. "I may have some trouble
with you, but conquer you I will. Your father will not interfere
between us. You have seen that for yourself. In fact, he has just
told me that he leaves the management of you entirely to me. He
has given me an absolutely free hand--very wisely. If I choose to
lock you in your room for the rest of the day he will not
interfere. And as I am quite capable of doing so, I warn you to be
very careful."

Sylvia stood as if turned to stone. She was white to the lips, but
she confronted her step-mother wholly without fear.

"Do you really think I would submit to that?" she said. "I am not
a child, I assure you, whatever I may appear to you. You will
certainly never manage me by that sort of means."

Her clear, emphatic voice fell without agitation. Now that the
first shock of the encounter was past she had herself quite firmly
in hand.

But Mrs. Ingleton took her up swiftly, realizing possibly that a
moment's delay would mean the yielding of the ground she had so
arrogantly claimed.

"I shall manage you exactly as I choose," she said, raising her
voice with abrupt violence. "I know very well your position in
this house. You are absolutely dependent, and--unless you
marry--you will remain so, being quite unqualified to earn your own
living. Therefore the whip-hand is mine, and if I find you
insolent or intractable I shall use it without mercy. How dare you
set yourself against me in this way?" She stamped with sudden fury
upon the ground. "No, not a word! Leave the room instantly--I will
have no more of it! Do you hear me, Sylvia? Do you hear me?"

She raised a menacing hand, but the fearless eyes never flinched.

"I think you must be mad," Sylvia said.

"Mad!" raved Mrs. Ingleton. "Mad because I refuse to be dictated
to by an impertinent girl? Mad because I insist upon being
mistress in my own house? You--you little viper--how dare you
stand there defying me? Do you want to be turned out into the
street?"

She had worked herself up into unreasoning rage again. Sylvia saw
that further argument would be worse than useless. Very quietly,
without another word, she turned, gathered up riding-whip and
gloves, and went from the room. She heard Mrs. Ingleton utter a
fierce, malignant laugh as she went.

CHAPTER IV

THE VICTOR

The commencement of the fox-hunting season was always celebrated by
a dance at the Town Hall--a dance which Sylvia had never failed to
attend during the five years that she had been in society and had
been a member of the Hunt.

It was at her first Hunt Ball, on the occasion of her _debut_, that
she had met young Guy Ranger, and she looked back to that ball with
all its tender reminiscences as the beginning of all things.

How superlatively happy she had been that night! Not for anything
that life could offer would she have parted with that one precious
romance of her girlhood. She clung to the memory of it as to a
priceless possession. And year after year she had gone to the Hunt
Ball with that memory close in her heart.

It was at the last of these that George Preston had asked her to be
his wife. She had made every effort to avoid him, but he had
mercilessly tracked her down; and though she had refused him with
great emphasis she had never really felt that he had taken her
seriously. He was always seeking her out, always making excuses to
be alone with her. It was growing increasingly difficult to evade
him. She had never liked the man, but Fate or his own contrivance
was continually throwing him in her way. If she hunted, he
invariably rode home with her. If she remained away, he invariably
came upon her somehow, and wanted to know wherefore.

She strongly suspected that her step-mother was in league with him,
though she had no direct proof of this. Preston was being
constantly asked to the house, and whenever they went out to dine
they almost invariably met him. She had begun to have a feeling
that people eyed them covertly, with significant glances, that they
were thrown together by design. Wherever they met, he always fell
to her lot as dinner-partner, and he had begun to affect an
attitude of proprietorship towards her which was yet too indefinite
for her actively to resent,

She felt as if a net were closing around her from which, despite
her utmost effort, she was powerless to escape. Also, for weeks
now she had received no letter from Guy, and that fact disheartened
her more than any other. She had never before had to wait so long
for word from him. Very brief, often unsatisfying, as his letters
had been, at least they had never failed to arrive. And she
counted upon them so. Without them, she felt bereft of her
mainstay. Without them, the almost daily, nerve-shattering scenes
which her step-mother somehow managed to enact, however discreet
her attitude, became an infliction hardly to be borne. She might
have left her home for a visit among friends, but something held
her back from this. Something warned her that if she went her
place would be instantly filled up, and she would never return.
And very bitterly she realized the fact that for the next two years
she was dependent. She had not been trained to earn her own
living, and she lacked the means to obtain a training. Her father,
she knew, would not hear of such a thing, nor would he relinquish
the only means he possessed of controlling her actions. She
believed that privately he did not wish to part with her, though
her presence was a very obvious drawback to his comfort. He never
took her part, but also he never threw his weight into the balance
against her. He merely, with considerable surliness, looked on.

And so the cruel struggle went on till it seemed to Sylvia that her
physical strength was ultimately beginning to fail. She came to
dread her step-mother's presence with a feeling akin to nausea, to
shrink in every nerve from the constant ordeals so ruthlessly
thrust upon her,

So far she had never faltered or shown any sign of weakness under
the long-drawn-out persecution, but she was becoming aware that,
strive as she might, her endurance had its limits. She was but
human, and she was intensely sensitive to unkindness. Her nerves
were beginning to give way under the strain. There were even times
when she felt a breakdown to be inevitable, and only the thought of
her step-mother's triumph warded it off. Once down, and she knew
she would be a slave, broken beyond redemption to the most pitiless
tyranny. And so, though her strength was worn threadbare through
perpetual strain, she clung to it still. If only--oh, if only--Guy
would write! If he should be ill--if he should fail her--she felt
that it would be the end of everything. For nothing else mattered.

She did not greatly wish to go to the Hunt Ball that year. She
felt utterly out of tune with all gaiety. But she could think of
no decent excuse for remaining away. And she was still buoying
herself up with the thought that Guy's silence could not last much
longer. She was bound to hear from him soon.

She went to the Ball, therefore, feeling tired and dispirited, and
looking quite _passee_, as her step-mother several times assured
her.

She had endured a long harangue upon jealousy that evening, which
vice Mrs. Ingleton declared she was allowing to embitter her whole
life, and she was weary to death of the subject and the penetrating
voice that had discoursed upon it. Once or twice she had been
stung into some biting rejoinder, but for the most part she had
borne the lecture in silence. After all, what did it matter? What
did it matter?

They reached the Town Hall and went up the carpeted steps.
Preston, in hunting pink, received them. He captured Sylvia's hand
and pressed it tight against his heart.

She stared at him with wide unsmiling eyes. "Seen the local rag?"
he asked, as he grinned amorously into them. "There's something to
interest you in it. Our local prophet has been at work."

She did not know what he meant, or feel sufficiently interested to
inquire. She pulled her hand free, and passed on. His familiarity
became more marked and more insufferable every time she encountered
him. But still she asked herself again, what did it matter?

He laughed and let her go.

In the cloak-room people looked at her oddly, but beyond ordinary
greetings no one spoke to her. She did not know that it was solely
her utter wretchedness that kept them at a distance.

She entered the ballroom behind Mrs. Ingleton, and at once Preston
descended upon her again. He had scrawled his name against half a
dozen dances on her card before she realized what he was doing.
She began to protest, but again that deadly feeling of apathy
overcame her. She was worn out--worn out. What did it matter
whether she danced with the man or not?

Young Vernon Eversley, a friendly boy whom she had always liked,
pursed his lips when he saw her programme.

"It's true then, is it?" he said.

"What is true?" She looked at him questioningly, not feeling
greatly interested in his answer.

He met her look with straight, honest eyes. "I saw the
announcement of your engagement in the paper this morning; but
somehow I didn't believe it. He's a dashed lucky man."

That startled her out of her lethargy. She began a quick
disclaimer, but they were interrupted. One of the stewards came up
and swept young Eversley away.

The next moment Preston came and took possession of her. He was
laughing still as he whirled her in among the dancers, refusing to
give her any breathing-space.

"I want to see a little colour in those cheeks of yours,
Cherry-ripe," he said. "What's the Ingleton dragon been doin' to
you, my pretty?"

She danced with him with a feeling that the net was drawn close
about her, and she was powerless to struggle any longer. When he
suffered her to stand at last, her head was whirling so that she
had to cling to him for support.

He led her to a secluded corner and put her into a chair. Then he
bent over her and spoke into her ear. "Look here! I'm not such a
bad sort. They've coupled our names together in the local rag.
Why not let 'em?"

She looked up at him, summoning her strength with a great effort.
"So it was your doing!" she said.

"No, it wasn't!" he declared. "I swear it wasn't! I'm not such a
fool as that. But see here, Sylvia! Where's the use of holdin'
out any longer? You know I want you, and there's no sense in goin'
on pinin' for a fellow in South Africa who's probably married a
dozen blacks already. It isn't like you to cry for the moon. Put
up with me instead! You might do worse, and anyone can see you're
havin' a dog's time at the Manor now. You'll be your own boss
anyway if you come to me."

She heard him with her eyes fixed before her. Her brief energy had
gone. Her life seemed to stretch before her in a long, dreary
waste. His arguments were unanswerable. Physical weariness,
combined with the despair which till then she had refused to
acknowledge, overwhelmed her. She was down.

He put his hand upon her. "Come, I say! Is it a bargain? I swear
I won't bully you. I'm awfully fond of you, Cherry-ripe."

She raised herself slowly. It was her last effort. "One thing
first," she said, and put his hand away from her. "I must--cable
to Guy, and get an answer."

"Oh, rot!" he said. "What for?"

"Because I haven't heard from him lately, and I must know--I must
know"--she spoke with rising agitation--"the reason why. He might
be--I don't say it is likely, but he might be--on his way home to
me. I can't--I can't give him up without knowing."

Preston grimaced wryly, but he was shrewd enough to grasp and hold
such advantage as was his. "Well, failing him, you'll have me,
what? That's a promise, is it?"

She looked at him again. "If you want me under those conditions."

He put his arms about her. "Of course I want you, Cherry-ripe!
We'd be awfully happy together, you and I. I'll soon make you
forget him, if that's all. You can't be very deeply in love with
the fellow after all this time. I don't suppose he's in the least
the sort of person you take him for. You're wastin' your time over
a myth. Come, it's settled, isn't it? We're engaged."

He pressed her closer. He bent to kiss her, but she turned her
face away. His lips only found her neck, but he made the most of
that. She had to exert her strength to free herself.

"No," she said. "We're not engaged. We can't be engaged--until I
have heard from Guy."

He suppressed a short word of impatience. "And suppose you don't
hear?" he asked.

She made a blind movement with her hands. "Then---I give in."

"You will marry me?" he insisted.

"If you like," she answered drearily. "I expect you will very soon
get tired of me."

"There's a remedy for everything," he answered jauntily. "But we
needn't consider that. I'm just mad to get you, you poor little
icicle. I'll warm you up, never fear. When you've been married to
me a week, you won't know yourself." She shivered and was silent.

He turned in his tracks, perceiving he was making no headway.
"Then we're engaged provisionally anyway," he insisted. "There's
no need to contradict the general impression--unless we're obliged.
We'll behave like lovers--till further notice."

She got to her feet. Her knees were trembling. The net was close
at last. She seemed to feel it pressing on her throat. "You are
not--to kiss me," she managed to say.

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