"Yes, if you hadn't been so wild. Now then, for the sake of the old days and our old love. Hilt, for my sake. Do you want me to go down upon my knees?" "No, no, the other way on, if you like. But the race--impossible. I can't--I can't. I don't know, though. She'd never hear of it. But the newspaper. She never reads it, though; calls it a disgustingly low journal. But, no--no, I couldn't--I couldn't. Hetty, old girl, pray, pray don't tempt me." "It is to save yourself from shame, and me, a weak, helpless woman, from absolute ruin. Don't live to see me sold up, stock, lock, and barrel. Why, Hilt, old man, I shall be as badly off as you. All my poor gee-gees, including the mare, knocked down, and poor me marrying some tyrant who will now and then write me a paltry cheque." "Ha, yes!" cried Sir Hilton, drawing himself up as rigidly as if he had been struck by a cataleptic seizure, while Lady Tilborough stared at him in horror, and, unseen by either, Sydney, armed with mounted fly-rod and creel, appeared at the window, stopped short, and looked in in astonishment. "Ha!" ejaculated the baronet, again, drawing a deep breath, as he changed into the little, wiry, alert man, with a regular horsey look coming over his face, and tightening lips. "All right, Hetty," he cried. "I'm on." "Hurrah!" cried Lady Tilborough, waving her whip about her head, and then stroking it down softly on first one and then on the other side of her old friend, before making believe to hold a pair of reins and work them about, jockey fashion. "Sir Hilton up--he's giving her her head-- look at her--away she goes--a neck--half a length--a length--two lengths! Sylphide wins! Sylphide wins--a bad second, and the field nowhere." "Ha!" breathed Sir Hilton, with his eyes flashing. "What about your silk and cap?" "All right." "Get 'em; come on, then, Hilt. I'll gallop back to the paddock like the wind. There'll be some scene-shifting there by now, and the bookies working the oracle, for the news was flying when I came away that my mare was to be scratched." "Ha," cried Sir Hilton. "We'll scratch 'em, old girl. She must--she shall win." "Three cheers for the gentleman-rider!" "But my wife--my election?" "What! Win the race, and you'll win the seat, old man. Can't you see?" "Only the saving of the money we have on." "What! Not that the popular sporting rider who won the cup will win no end of votes to-day?" "Ah, to be sure. Yes, of course," cried Sir Hilton, excitedly. "Be off. I'll join you at the hotel. My word! I seem to be coming to life again, Hetty. I can hear the buzzing of the crowd, the beating of the hoofs, the whistling of the wind, and see the swarming mob, and yelling of the thousand voices as the horse sweeps on with her long, elastic stride." "First past the post, Hilt." "Yes, first past the post."