“Yes, sir; but La Sylphide.”
“Look here, Mark, my lad, no more of this. I know, of course, but take it away. Do you want to drive me mad?”
“Beg pardon, Sir Hilton. Then you won’t drive over in the dogcart?”
“What?”
“Just to see her pull it off, Sir Hilton.”
“Confound it, man! Hold your tongue! Be off!”
At that moment there were steps on the gravel, and directly after a peal arose from the door-bell.
“Go and see who that is, sir, and never mention anything connected with the Turf again. It’s dead to me, and I’m dead to it,” he muttered, as the man left the room, giving place to Jane, who hurried in with covered dishes upon a tray.
“Did you see who that was, Jane?”
“No, Sir Hilton. Some gentleman on horseback. His horse is hooked on one side of the gate.”