“I don’t know; try. If you don’t, I shall. There, I will,” cried the girl, and starting up before Syd could stop her, she planted herself theatrically before Sir Hilton, and with an arch look, and her eyes twinkling, she laid a hand upon the baronet’s arm, saying—
“Please, Sir Hilton, shall I do?”
He stared at her wonderingly for some moments.
“Eh?” he said. “Do? Who is it?”
“Miss Simpkins, Sir Hilton. You know—La Sylphide.”
Sir Hilton laid his left hand upon his forehead, and gazed at the girl thoughtfully.
“La Sylphide?” he said at last. “Did she win?”
“Yes, Sir Hilton, by three lengths,” cried the girl, eagerly; “but, please, don’t you know me?”
“No,” said Sir Hilton, shaking his head. “No.”
“There, I told you so,” whispered Syd. “He’s quite off his nut.”