"Here I am, Hilt, dear boy," cried the visitor, as the door closed. "Caught you all alone, for I passed 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 passionately. "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.'" "Did Lord Tilborough say that?" cried Sir Hilton, frowning. "Yes, old fellow," sighed the lady; "and it's quite true. There, don't look black, Hilty, dear old man. You know you ruined yourself, and so you would anyone else who trusted you with money." "Lady Tilborough!" cried Sir Hilton, indignantly. "Stop that, dear boy. No stilts. Be honest. You know it's true. Here, sit down and listen. I want your help." "Hadn't you better go to some other friend?" said Sir Hilton, sinking back in a chair at some distance, crossing his legs, and kicking the uppermost one up and down angrily. "Dr Granton, for instance." "You leave Jack Granton out of the case, stupid. He wants to marry me, though he has never said so. He's a thoroughly good fellow; but, of course, I couldn't go to him, even if he could help me, and he can't." "How can I, Lady Tilborough?" "Hetty!" said the lady, sternly. "Well, Hetty, then." "That's better, Hilt, old man. Here, I'll tell you directly. Look at me." She paused to fight down a passion of hysterical laughter. "My dear little woman!" said Sir Hilton, springing up. "Keep away! Don't touch me!" cried his visitor. "Have a glass of wine--some brandy?"