Sir Hilton's Sin

“You did it up beautifully, auntie.”

“Well, I hope I did, my dear child, but I have often regretted the money that was spent over a place situated as it is.”

“Situated, auntie? Why, it’s lovely.”

“Lovely by nature, my dear, but tainted and made ugly by the surroundings of the society which affects the district.”

“Is it, auntie?”

“Yes, my dear. I never could understand why it should be selected by those dreadful people for their sports and pastimes.”

“You mean the racing, auntie?”

“Yes, my dear” – with a shudder. “Tilborough has become a den of infamy – a place which attracts, so many times a year, all the ruffiandom of London, to leave its trail behind. The late Lord Tilborough used to encourage it with his stablings and horses, and – yes, it’s a great pity: the sweet innocency of the neighbourhood is destroyed.”

“Yes, auntie.”

“Of course, Lady Tilborough calls occasionally, and I am compelled to be civil to her; but I wish you to avoid all communication with her and her friends as much as possible.”

“Oh, I never see her, auntie, except when she’s driving. I’ve met her sometimes when I’ve been out with uncle.”

Lady Lisle winced. “Not lately, Sydney dear?” she said after a pause.

“Not very lately, auntie. Last time it was when Dr Granton – ”

“That person who comes and stays at Tilborough?”

“Yes, auntie; uncle’s old friend.”

Lady Lisle winced again.

“He’s an awfully jolly chap. You like him, auntie?”

“No, my child, I do not. Your uncle’s old friends of his bachelor days belong to quite a different world from mine.”

“But he’s a clever doctor, auntie. Done uncle no end of good. Proper sort of chap to know.”

“How can you judge as to that, my dear?” said the lady, sternly.

“Well, you see, auntie, one does get a bit queer sometimes. I had such a headache the other day when he called to see uncle, and he laughed at me, and took me over to the hotel and gave me a dose of stuff that cured it in half an hour.”

“Sydney, my dear, I beg that you will never go to that hotel again. Avoid Tilborough as much as you would any other evil place. The next time you have a headache either go and see Dr Linnett or come to me, and I will give you something out of the medicine-chest. Dr Granton cannot be an experienced practitioner.”

“Why, they say, auntie, he’s wonderfully clever over accidents in the hunting field.”

“Yes, in the hunting field,” said the lady, sarcastically; “but a medical man’s practice should be at home, and in his own neighbourhood. A man who attends grooms at racing stables is to my mind more of what is, I believe, called a veter – ”

“That’s right, auntie – a vet.”

“Than a family practitioner,” continued the lady, sternly; “and it is a source of great trouble to me that your uncle does not give up his society. I desire that you avoid him.”

“All right, auntie; I will.”

“Always bear in mind, my dear, that it is easier to make acquaintances than to end them.”

“Yes, auntie; I found that out in Loamborough. Some of the fellows will stick to you.”

“Say adhere, my child.”

“Yes, auntie.”

“Always bear in mind what a great future you have before you. Some day – I sincerely hope that day is far distant – your dear grandfather must pass away, and then think of your future and the position you must hold. A title and a princely income.”

“Oh, yes; I often think of it all, auntie. I say, though, I wish the chaps wouldn’t be quite so fond of chaffing a fellow about the old guv’nor buying his title.”

“He did not buy it, Sydney, my dear,” said Lady Lisle, with a faint colour coming into her cheeks.

“Didn’t he, auntie? They say so.”

“The truth of the matter is, my dear, that the party – ”

“Good old party!” said the “dear boy” to himself.

“The party was pressed for money to carry on the Parliamentary warfare, and, with your dear grandpapa’s noble generosity, he placed his purse at the party’s disposal.”

“Keeps it pretty close when I want a few dibs,” said the “dear boy” to himself.

“And the baronetcy was the very least return that the retiring Prime Minister could make him.”

“Oh, that’s it, is it, auntie?”

“Yes, my dear,” said the lady, laying down one of her secretarial appeals she had that morning received from the enterprising dun of the Society for the Propagation of Moral Maxims. “Yes,” she said, with some show of animation, “the title was honourably earned and bestowed, and some day, Syd, my dear boy, you will be very proud of it. New? Yes, of course it is new.”

“And it’ll grow old, won’t it, auntie?”

“Of course, my dear. And the Lisles, your dear uncle’s people, need not be so proud of their old family title. The Lisle, your uncle’s ancestor, was only a wealthy country gentleman, who bought his baronetcy of King James the First.”

“For a thousand quid, auntie?”

“A thousand pounds, my dear,” said the lady, looking at him wonderingly.

“Yes, auntie; but he was a gentleman.”

“And so is your grandfather, Sydney, my child,” said the lady, rather austerely.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said the “dear boy,” rather sulkily. “The fellows at Loamborough are always chucking the ‘Devil’ in my face.”

“Syd!”