Sir Hilton's Sin

The baronet sighed – almost groaned. “Anything else?”

“Well – er – no-o-o-o. Oh, yes; a little bit of badinage.”

“Eh? What about? Nothing spiteful? No, she wouldn’t. She’s a dear good creature, bless her!”

“Good boy! So she is – bless her!”

“Ah! I once thought when the old man died, that – ”

“Oh, did you? Well, you didn’t, and you’ve married well enough to satisfy any man.”

Sir Hilton sighed, and his visitor looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Come, old man, you don’t seem to care for your corn. You didn’t have a wet night?”

“Hot coppers this morning? My dear boy, no! Why, I lead as quiet a life as a curate now.”

“All the better for you.”

Sir Hilton sighed again.

“Then it’s true?” said the visitor, smiling.

“What’s true? What have you been hearing? Did Lady Tilborough say – ”

“Oh, nothing; only a bit of chaff about you.”

“Tell me what the widow said.”

“Oh, it was all good humouredly – a bit of her fun. You know what she is – wouldn’t hurt the feelings of a fly.”

“Yes, yes, I know; but she has been laughing at me. She has – ”

“Nonsense – nonsense! Don’t make your coat rough, old man. She only said it was a pity.”

“What was a pity?”

“That dear old Hilt should be ridden with his curb chain so tight – by George! I didn’t know how hungry I was.”

“Yes,” said Sir Hilton, sadly; “the curb is a bit too tight sometimes, Jack; but someone means well, and she has a right to be a bit firm. I always was a fool over money matters.”

“Nonsense, old fellow! You were a prince, only you were unlucky, and were obliged to make a clear up; but you’re all right again now.”

“Yes,” said the baronet, “I’m all right again now.” But his voice sounded very doleful.

“It was thirty thou’ a-year, wasn’t it – I mean, isn’t it?”

Sir Hilton nodded.

“She got the title and you got the tin. Quid pro quo!”

Sir Hilton nodded again, and then made a desperate effort to turn the conversation back upon his friend.

“Lady Lisle has always taken an interest in parish matters and the poor, and it pleases her. She would not, of course, like me to take an interest now in racing affairs.”

“Of course not – of course not, my dear boy,” said the visitor, helping himself to the marmalade left by Sydney.

“But what about you?”

“Me? Oh, I’m doing capitally,” was the reply, rather thickly uttered.

“Nonsense! I mean that affair. How do matters go with the widow?”

“Hah!” sighed the visitor, laying down his knife.

“Hallo! Not off, is it, old chap?”

“No, not off, Hilt, but I’m just where I was. Like the farmer over the claret, I don’t seem to get no furder.”

“Well, you must be a duffer, Jack.”

“I suppose I am, old man. Pluck enough in some things, but I’m afraid of her.”

“But 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.”