At that very moment there was the rattle of a door handle in the gallery, and a familiar voice exclaimed: "One moment, Sir Hilton, you've left your whip." "Give it me; but she'll want no whip." The trainer made a fierce gesture, and the agent retreated through the office, while the former thrust his fat finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket unconsciously as he advanced towards the foot of the stairs, down which Sir Hilton came carefully, so as not to catch his spurs in the carpet, and closely followed by Mark Willows, bearing a long drab greatcoat. The baronet looked the very pink of a gentleman-rider in his light-blue satin shirt, diagonally crossed over the right shoulder by a broad scarlet scarf-like band, and scarlet jockey cap to match. His breeches and boots fitted to perfection, and as he stepped lightly into the middle of the hall, almost on the very spot which his wife had occupied, there was a keen look in his grey eyes and a slight quivering about his well-cut nostrils, making him seem alert, ready, and quite the man who might be trusted with a race. "There," he said sharply; "how long have I to spare?" "Good half-hour, sir," said the trainer, gazing at his guest as if full of pride at his appearance. "Leave that coat on the chair, there, man, and go and wait for me at the paddock." Mark touched his hat and passed out, eager to get on to the field of battle, swarming with objects of interest to the groom's eyes, while Simpkins approached his guest, smiling and rubbing his hands. "Well, Sam," said Sir Hilton, shortly; "do I look all right?" "All right, Sir Hilton? Splendid!" The eager admiration seemed to be perfectly real, as the trainer walked round, inspecting carefully. "Not your old things, are they, Sir Hilton?" "Oh, yes. Been lying by these three years. Look--creased and soiled?" "Fresh as a daisy, Sir Hilton. Why, its like old times. Here, hang the business! It may take care of itself to-day. I'm coming to see you ride." The man spoke back over his shoulder, as, leaving his guest shaking himself down in the unaccustomed garb, he hurried into the office, where a pop was heard, and he returned, bearing a waiter, on which was a foaming champagne bottle and a couple of glasses. This he placed upon a little marble table, and began to fill the glasses with trembling hands, a little in first one and then in the other, till the cream ceased to threaten flowing over, when he placed the bottle by itself and bore the waiter and its glasses towards the guest. "Hullo! What have you got there, Sam?" "Irroy, black seal, Sir Hilton." "I see; but I didn't order it." "No, Sir Hilton, but you won't mind taking a glass with the old trainer--to La Sylphide, and the winning of the cup?" "No, no, no, man. Nonsense! Very good of you, but I want a cool head and a steady hand."