Sir Hilton's Sin Part 14

"Here, catch!" cried Sir Hilton, tossing the man a florin, which, as it went spinning out into the sunshine, was deftly caught, spat upon, and transferred to a pocket.

"Long life to Sir Rilton Lisle, and may his 'osses allus win! But you'll buy the little dawg for her ladyship, your honour?"

Sir Hilton made an angry gesture, and the wretched-looking object slouched off, just as the noise of gravel-grinding was heard, and the Lisles' handsome victoria was driven up to the front door.

"There, Hilton," said the lady, reproachfully, "is it not horrible that you should have come to such a state of degradation as that!"--and she pointed in the direction taken by the tout.

"I--I?" cried her husband, firing up. "Hang it all, Laura, do you compare me to that wretched cad?"

"No, no, my dear. I mean the degradation of being recognised by such a miserable outcast."

"Humph! Poor wretch!"

"And I do object, love, to your indulging in casual relief. Be charitable, of course, but give only to the deserving and good. There,"

she continued, advancing towards him to lay her hands upon his shoulders and kiss him solemnly, "I'm not angry with you, darling, for you will take these lessons to heart, I'm sure. Good-bye, love. Go and study up your Blue Books, and think out your plan of campaign. I shall be back soon to tell you that you may be sure of Mr Browse's vote."

"Thank you, my dear," said Sir Hilton, responding dreamily to the chilly caress he received, the lady's lips being just on a level with his forehead. "Here, I'll come to the carriage with you."

"No, no, no, love. Get to your Blue Books, and practise your speeches.

I'm going to work for and with you, not to be a hindrance. Get to work, I want you to be a modern Cicero or Demosthenes. Good-bye--Good-bye."

Lady Lisle solemnly waved a kiss to her husband, and sailed out of the room, leaving the dapper little baronet deep in thought and biting his nails.

CHAPTER SIX.

THE LADY IN THE CASE.

"Blue Books! Blue Books! Confound the Blue Books!" cried Sir Hilton, as he marched up and down the breakfast-room long after he had heard the wheels of the departing victoria and the tramp of the handsome pair of horses die out. "Who's to study Blue Books? Who's to practise speeches with the weight of four thousand pounds on his mind?

"Speeches!" he cried angrily, after a few minutes, and he waved his hands wildly. "I want no practice, after making such a Speech as I did to Jack Granton. I must have been mad. I can't go to the course without being found out, and if I could it's too late--too late--too late!

"But is it?" he said, after a few minutes' restless walk like that of the lone wolf up and down its cage at the Zoo.

"Oh, yes," he groaned; "Jack was always like lightning at planking down.

He'd ride straight away and get every penny on. There, I'm getting in a regular fever. Out of training. I never used to worry when I stood to lose five times as much, and I won't worry now. I won't think I stand to lose four thou', but only that I stand to win forty, as I must, for with Josh Rowle up, the Sylphide must win in a canter. There's nothing been foaled yet that can touch her in these little races.

There, Laura's out, and I'll have a cigar and calm down. Forty thou'!

Sh.e.l.l never know--at least, I hope not, and, it will make me independent for a bit. But I won't do it any more. It would be tempting fortune; but with that extra in the bank I can stand my ground a little. Laura's a dear good woman, but too straight-laced. There's too much of this parish twaddle and charity-mongering. She's quite insane upon such matters, and with the independence that money will give me I can afford to stand up for myself. She talks about weaning me, and I've given up the hunting and the racecourse to humour her, so now she must drop some of her fads to favour me. We shall be a deal happier then."

He dropped into a chair, feeling easier in his mind, and went on musing.

"Yes," he said, "there's a lot a fellow ought to do, and the first thing after settling day I mean to attack this stewardship business. I'm about sick of that long, lean, lizardly humbug Trimmer. Hang his white choker and sanctified ways! He's a wolf in sheep's clothing, I'll swear. A hypocritical rascal! I'll swear I saw him leering at our pretty Jane, but if I told Laura she'd take his part. Ha, ha, ha!

Capital!" he said half-aloud, as he indulged in a hearty fit of chuckling. "What a splendid idea. I can't quite see my way, but Mark's dead on the little la.s.sie, and if I'm right and the lad can be enlightened, my word, I should like to see the fun! Judging by the way Mark can handle his fives, and the fire such a notion would give him, I shouldn't like to be in Master Trimmer's shoes, to wear the phiz he would have when the lad had done with him. Yes, that would settle Master Trimmer, if, of course, I am right, and he is the confounded mawworm I believe him to be.

"Well, that would be an improvement. Then there's Master Syd. That young dog's gammoning his aunt shamefully, I'm sure. But it's all her own fault. She treats him as if he were a child instead of a lad of eighteen and it isn't natural for a boy to be dragged into these parish meetings, and to be set to read reports of this society and that society, and checked in his natural desire for a bit of honest, manly sport. Why, if that boy could have had his way he'd have been at the races to-day. Going fishing, I suppose. Well, that's not so bad, but I almost wonder he's allowed to do that.

"Hang it all!" he muttered, springing up and going to the window, where he looked out, and carefully cut and lit a cigar, to begin smoking, so that the fumes should pa.s.s out into the air, "how that money does keep buzzing in my head. My pulses are going like fun. Ah! there, I won't think about it. La Sylphide is safe to pull it off for us. Do Granton good, too. Make him more independent over his suit with the widow. Ha!

There's nothing like a good cigar to pull a man round. I'm better already; but it's miserable work, this having to steal a smoke in one's own house. I feel quite a coward over it, or like a boy learning. Like Syd did when I caught him having a weed in the stables. One of mine, too! He confessed to helping himself to one out of that box in the study cupboard.

"Well, I wasn't very hard on him. Boys will be boys, and they pay pretty dearly for their first smoke.

"Yes, I feel ever so much calmer now. My word! How I should have liked to have the dogcart out and drive Laury tandem to the racecourse! She wouldn't have enjoyed it? Well, the boy, then, to see the Sylph win, and dropped in afterwards at the Arms. Had a chat with old Sam's pretty little la.s.sie. Good idea that of his, to name the little thing after the mare. How proud he is of her, and how proud he was, too, of the mare. Well, no wonder; it was a splendid bit of training. But hang him for an old fox! As big an old scoundrel as ever had a horse pulled in a race. Shocking old ruffian! Wonder what he's doing on the cup race; on heavily with La Sylphide, of course, and no wonder, for she is sure to win."

As he said these words Sir Hilton was sitting on the window-sill sending out his smoke in good, steady, regular puffs, perfectly unconscious of all sounds without and of everything but his own thoughts, till the door was opened suddenly, with strange effect.

For Sir Hilton Lisle, Bart., as his name was written, made a sudden bound off the window-sill, sending his cigar flying, while the guilty blood flushed his face, as he felt that his wife had returned, and he had been caught smoking indoors.

But he turned pale with anger the next moment as he stood facing the little maid, Jane, who was fighting hard to hide a smile which would show, while her bright eyes twinkled with delight, as she said quickly: "Lady Tilborough, sir."

And the next moment the widow of the late n.o.bleman of that name, a round-faced, retrousse-nosed, red-lipped, grey-eyed little woman of exquisite complexion, and looking delightfully enticing in her tall hat and perfectly-fitting riding-habit, which she held up with a pair of prettily-gauntleted hands, hurried into the room.

"There, go away, little girl," she cried, giving Jane a playful tap with her whip, "and tell your Mark to give my pony's mouth a wash out. No corn, mind."

"Yes, my lady," cried Jane, beaming upon the natty little body, and taking in her dress with one glance.

"Here I am, Hilt, dear boy," cried the visitor, as the door closed.

"Caught you all alone, for I pa.s.sed your wife, and she cut me dead.

Here I am!"

"Yes, I see you are," groaned Sir Hilton; and then to himself: "Temptation once again, and in its most tempting form."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A DIABOLICAL BUSINESS.

If the old writers were right, so was Sir Hilton Lisle, as he drew a chair forward and placed it ready for his attractive visitor, who gave the long folds of her riding-habit a graceful sweep, and then dropped with an elastic plump into the seat.

"Oh, Hilt, dear boy! Oh, Hilt!" she cried, bursting into tears.

"My dear Lady Tilborough!" he cried, catching her hands in his, as she dabbed her whip down on the table with a smart blow; "what is the matter?"

"Don't, don't, don't!" she cried pa.s.sionately.

"Don't?" said Sir Hilton. "What have I done?"

"Called me Lady Tilborough in that cold, formal way, just as if you were going to refuse before I asked; and us such very, very old friends!"

"Well, Hetty, then. My dear old girl, what is the matter?"

"Ah, that's better, Hilt," said the lady, with a sigh of relief. "We are such old friends, aren't we?--even if you have married that dreadfully severe wife who looks upon me as an awfully wicked woman."

"Which you are not, Hetty," said Sir Hilton, warmly.

"Thank ye, Hilt dear. That does me good," she said, drawing away her hands and beginning to wipe her eyes. "I always felt that I could trust to you if I had a spill. Tilborough always used to say: 'If you're in any trouble, go to dear old Hilt, unless it's money matters; and in them don't trust him, for he's a perfect baby.'"