“Told me? Let’s see. Oh, it was Lady Tilborough.”
The conversation ceased for a minute or two while Jane entered with a tray, busied herself, and then departed, leaving the visitor quite ready to show that his eight o’clock breakfast was a thing of the past.
“I say, though,” he exclaimed, with his mouth half full, “I didn’t mean this. I’ve left my horse hitched on to the gate.”
Sir Hilton rose, stepped to the window, and returned.
“Not there. Mark would see to it, of course, and give it a feed in the stables.”
“That’s all right, then. Yes, Lady Tilborough was talking about you the other day.”
“Was she? What did she say?”
“Oh, not much. Only that it was a pity you had given up hunting and the Turf.”
The baronet sighed—almost groaned. “Anything else?”
“Well—er—no-o-o-o. Oh, yes; a little bit of badinage.”