“Yes,” said the baronet, “I’m all right again now.” But his voice sounded very doleful.
“It was thirty thou’ a-year, wasn’t it—I mean, isn’t it?”
Sir Hilton nodded.
“She got the title and you got the tin. Quid pro quo!”
Sir Hilton nodded again, and then made a desperate effort to turn the conversation back upon his friend.
“Lady Lisle has always taken an interest in parish matters and the poor, and it pleases her. She would not, of course, like me to take an interest now in racing affairs.”
“Of course not—of course not, my dear boy,” said the visitor, helping himself to the marmalade left by Sydney.
“But what about you?”
“Me? Oh, I’m doing capitally,” was the reply, rather thickly uttered.
“Nonsense! I mean that affair. How do matters go with the widow?”