"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 pass 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 lassie. 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 nobleman 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.