“Perhaps not,” said the lady, half-hysterically, for something was dragging her hard in her heaving bosom; “but I cannot trust the word of a man who has degraded himself as you did with drink.”
“Haw, haw, haw!” cried Dandy Dinny, in his most raucous tones.
“You hold your row,” said Mark, giving his prisoner a shake.
“Shee—ahn’t!” growled the man.
“Ah, Mr Trimmer, you are there,” cried Lady Lisle, as the door opened and the agent, looking pale, but particularly neat in his dark Oxford mixture suit and white, much-starched cravat, entered, to look wonderingly round at the strange scene, and wince as he caught the trainer’s eyes; but Lady Lisle’s look fascinated him, and he could not retreat.
“Yes, my lady,” he said in his blandest tones. “I heard the noise of breaking glass, and I hurriedly dressed and came down.”
“Come here. I want your assistance badly. I am glad to have someone in whom I can place trust.”
She took a step towards the agent, and raised her hand as if to place it upon Trimmer’s arm, and her lips parted to ask him to lead her from the room, when Dandy Dinny shouted coarsely to Trimmer—
“What, my lovely Methody P.! How much did you lose on the race?”
“Lose—race?” cried Lady Lisle, shrinking away, with white circles seeming to form round her dark, dilating eyes. “Surely, Mr Trimmer, you were not there?”