"Down in the mouth indeed, after missus's father found the money to pay all his debts, and four thousand pounds for him to go into Parliament as an M.P." "Tchah! Such nonsense! Our Sir Hilton ain't going to give up the Turf and chuck hisself away like that." "Chuck hisself away?" "Yes. Turn Jawkins. Him going to turn himself into a talking windmill, a-waving his arms about? Not he. But how come you to hear that?" "Mr Trimmer told me." "Mr Trimmer! How come he to tell you?" said the young man, with his face growing dark. "Oh, Mr Trimmer is very pleasant and friendly to me sometimes." "Oh, is he? Then he ain't going to be, and so I tell him. A long, lanky, white-chokered imitation Methody parson, that's what he is! What right has he got to be civil to you, I should like to know?" "Well, I'm sure, sir," cried the girl, whose eyes were sparkling with delight to see how her lover was moved, "I don't know what her ladyship's bailiff and agent and steward and confidential man would say--him, a real gentleman--if he heard what poor Sir Hilton's groom and valet said." "Gentleman--confidential man! Why, he ain't half a man, and he ain't the good sanctified chap he pretends to be, and I'd tell him so to his face. Look here, Jenny; he may be her ladyship's, but he ain't going to be your confidential man. But there, I ain't no right to say nothing, I suppose, and this about finishes it. Ladyship or no ladyship, whether the guv'nor comes or whether he don't, I'm going over to Tilborough racecourse 'safternoon, and if La Sylphide don't pull it off for me I shall make a hole in the water and leave it to cover me up." "Mark!" said Jenny, softly, with her eyes half closed. "Well?" "I can't help Mr Trimmer speaking civil to me when he comes to see her ladyship about the accounts." "Oh, no, of course not," said the young man, sarcastically. "I can't really, Mark--dear. He always seems to me like one of those nasty evats that come down in the stone passage in damp weather, and just as they do when they've rubbed a little of the whitewash on to their throats." "Jenny!" "Yes, Mark dear. I do hope La Sylphide will win." "Oh!" "Ahem!" Smart-looking, well-built, dapper little Sir Hilton Lisle, looking the beau-ideal of a horse-loving country gentleman, entered the breakfast-room. CHAPTER FOUR. THE TEMPTER'S CALL. Mark and Jane started apart, looking extremely guilty--of a loving kiss--but quite ready to make the best of things, the latter darting to the table to rearrange the position of a couple of forks, and Sir Hilton's body-servant holding out a hand, palm upwards. "Do look sharp, Jane," he said, "and hurry up that hot coffee and the kidneys. I knew Sir Hilton would be down directly." "Mark!" said the baronet, sharply. "Yes, Sir Hilton." "You know I don't like humbug, eh?" "Yes, Sir Hilton?" "Jane, my girl, do you want to lose your place?" "No, Sir Hilton. I'm very sorry, Sir Hilton--I--" "Let him kiss you?"