Lady Lisle felt exhausted, and she made a gesture as if to speak. "No, you've had your innings, my lady, and I don't keep calling you woman, woman, woman. Now, here's what I've got to say as a fine-ale-- the thing's happened, and you've got to make the best of it. My Molly's out yonder with the chap she loves and who loves her. You can't get at 'em, and if you behave sensible you'll get back in your carriage and go straight home, and the sooner the better, or I shall have to show you the door, for I've got something in the way of a big business to do. By and by, when you get cool, you'll see as it's no use to be orty, and if you like to come down off the stilts and ask my Molly to join you at the Denes, well and good." "Oh!" gasped the visitor in horror. "Very well, if you don't I shan't fret. I know what you've done long enough, keeping him like at the Denes; but I can afford it, even if I am hard hit to-day. It only means putting an extra knife and fork at my table, where he shall be welcome till you drop the orty and 'old your 'and--Hullo! Feel upset, my lady? That's pride and temper." "Don't touch me, man!" panted the suffering woman; "it would be pollution. Oh, Hilton, Hilton!" she moaned as she strove to steady herself to the door and managed to walk out of the porch and step feebly into the carriage. "Home!" she said, in a deep, hollow voice before she sank back, unconscious of the excitement and noise around, and moaned softly. "Home? No; it is home no more." This giving way to one set of feelings lasted but a few moments, for there rose up before her imagination the figure of her husband seated somewhere with her young and handsome rival, possibly hand in hand, watching the scene before them, and a wave of fierce passion swept all before it. The next minute, to the astonishment and satisfaction of her disappointed coachman, who was longing to see one heat if not more, she stood up in the barouche and prodded him with her parasol. "Turn back," she said, "and drive to where I can have a good view of the race." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. LA SYLPHIDE'S HEALTH. "Orty, stuck-up popinjay!" growled the trainer, mopping his forehead. "But she's got to come down. And me on pins and needles all the time for fear he should open his door and she see him! I did feel as if it might be right to let her, but his monkey would have been up, and she couldn't have stopped him from riding. Hullo!" he said, as he saw Trimmer at the office-door. "Not gone!" "No," whispered the agent. "I felt obliged to stay." "And I feel obliged to kick you out. So cut." "No, no, Mr Simpkins." "Look here, sir, if that job's to be done, I can do it. I don't want no complications. You can stand by me if it gets blown and there's a job for the police. As it is, I'll do it or not do it, without your meddling and putting in your spoon. Take your hook, dyer hear, and before he comes."