Sir Hilton's Sin. Fenn George Manville
haven’t you spoken?”
“No; I daren’t, for fear she should laugh at me, and the whole affair be quite off.”
“I say, Jack, you’re dead hit.”
“I am, old man – dead. Bless her! She’s an angel! But I’m afraid, after her experience with that old ruffian Tilborough, she has made up her mind never to run in double harness again.”
“Nonsense! Pluck up, old fellow; a woman likes a man to be manly, and if she accepted you – ”
“Ah, if Hilt, if.”
“She would, or I don’t know her. I should like to see it come off, for there wouldn’t be a better matched pair in England. Go in and win.”
“Well, hang me if I don’t! I’ve been playing a shilly-shally waiting game, and now I’ll come to the point. But I say, what’s this about you in the papers – election news?”
“Oh, it’s the wife’s wish. She won’t rest till I have ‘M.P.’ at the end of my name.”
“Good thing too. You’re getting mossy here. Go into Parliament, and it will soon be rubbed off. The poor dear lady is spoiling you. Too much apron-string. She’s stopped your racing and hunting, but you must do something. Go in and win your seat.”
“I don’t care much about it.”
“More fool you! Think of the chances it will give you of a little life. The House – there you are; an excuse for everything not quite in running order with the ideas of such a lady as madam. Club? Best in London. Late hours? Sitting till two, three, four, or milk-time.”
“Yes; I never gave that a thought.”
“An excuse for everything, dear boy, and your wife proud of you. Oh, I should enter for those stakes, certainly. It will cost you something, though.”
“I suppose so; but, between ourselves, Lady Lisle has placed four thou’ to my account for election expenses.”
“Brave little woman! The widow’s all wrong.”
“How! Why? What do you mean?”
“She said her ladyship kept the chequebook, and saw to the estate herself, only allowing you a little pocket-money when you were a good boy.”
“Tell Lady Tilborough to mind her own business, Jack,” said the baronet, tartly.
“My dear Hilt, I’d share my last fiver with you, or I’d back any of your paper with pleasure; but I’ll be hanged if I’ll do that I say, though, come on to the race to-day.”
Sir Hilton shook his head.
“Nonsense! Think of it. Your old filly, La Sylphide, first favourite. I saw her a week ago. Lovely! Lady Tilborough told me she wouldn’t take four times as much for her as she gave at your sale.”
“The beautiful gazelle-eyed creature!” sighed Sir Hilton.
“That she is.”
“Who is up?” said Sir Hilton.
“Josh Rowle, your old jock, of course. The widow told me that she wouldn’t – I mean the mare – let anyone else go near her.”
“Just like her, Jack. She had a temper, but she was like a kitten with me. Came ambling up the paddock when I whistled, and she’d rub her head against me for all the world like a cat, and fetch bits of carrot out of my pocket, or whinny for sugar. Ah! those were dear old days. Yes, she’ll pull it off for certain.”
“Come and see her run.”
“I couldn’t, old man. I couldn’t bear it. No, I’m entered for the House of Commons. Lady Lisle says I’m to be a – a Minister some day.”
“Bravo! Be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and keep the purse. But I say, do come. You must be hungry for a race after fasting so long.”
“I am, Jack, I am.”
“Come, then.”
“No; don’t ask me,” said the baronet; “my racing days are over.”
“And you’ve burnt your jockey cap and silk, the scarlet and blue stripe of the finest gentleman-rider of his day?”
“By Jove! no. I keep them, leathers, boots, whip, and all, in a locked-up drawer. My man, Mark, takes them out to set them up and worship sometimes.”
“Then you really won’t come?”
“No, Jack, I can’t. It would break my wife’s heart if I did, and she really is very fond of me.”
“Very well; I won’t press you, old man. But, I say, you think La Sylphide will win?”
“It’s a dead cert. Have you anything on?”
“All I’m worth, dear boy. Have you?”
“I? Nonsense! I haven’t made a bet these two years.”
“Then now’s your time.”
“No, no: I’ve done with that sort of thing.”
“But, personally, you are not flush of money, are you?”
“I? Never was so short in my life.”
The doctor laughed. “Seize the chance, then, to make a thou’ or two.”
“Impossible.”
“Nonsense! You say yourself the mare’s sure to win.”
“Bar accidents, she must.”
“Then make your game.”
“No; I have no money.”
“Why, you said just now that her ladyship had placed four thou’ to your credit in her bank.”
“For my electioneering exes.”
“Bosh! To use. Put on the pot and make it boil. Why, man, you could clear enough on the strength of that coin lying idle to set you up for a couple of years.”
“Ye-e-es,” said Sir Hilton, who began biting at his nails. “Might, mightn’t I?”
“Of course. Why, you would be mad to miss the chance.”
“It does sound tempting.”
“Tempting? Of course. It isn’t as if there was any gambling in it.”
“Exactly. There would be no gambling in it?”
“Of course not. If it were some horse whose character you did not know, it would be different. But here you are – your own mare, whom you know down to the ground. Your own jockey, too. Look here, dear boy, La Sylphide can’t help winning. You’d be mad to miss this chance. I should say, go and see the run, but I give way to your scruples there; but when I see you chucking away a pile of money I begin to kick.”
Sir Hilton rose and walked up and down the room, as his old friend and companion continued talking, and ended by coming back to the table and bringing down his fist with a bang.
“Yes,” he cried, “it would be madness to miss the chance. By Jove! I’ll do it.”
“Bravo, old man!”
“I’ll put it in your hands, Jack. Get on for me all you can.”
“Up to what?”
“All I’ve got in the bank. Four thou’.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Of course.”
“Well done, old chap. That’s Hilt up to the hilt, like in the old times.”
“Pst! Someone coming,” said the baronet, dropping into a chair. “We didn’t hear the chaise. It’s my wife.”
Chapter Five.
A Lamentable Case
Lady Lisle swept into the room, fresh from the pony-carriage, looking rather stern and haughty, her brows knitting