“I really must, my dear madam. No, no, Hilton, dear boy, don’t ring for the horse; I’ll go round by the stables and pick up my hack. Don’t you come. Good-morning, Lady Lisle. I hope you will let me call if I am again this way?”
“Certainly, Dr Granton. I am always happy to extend the hospitality of the Denes to my husband’s friends.”
“Thank you; of course. Once more, good-morning. Morning, Hilton, dear boy. Au revoir!”
He passed out, and the frown on Lady Lisle’s brow deepened. “I’m afraid, Hilton,” she said, “that Dr Granton’s business may have something to do with the races.”
“Eh? Indeed! Well, now you say so, I suppose it is possible.”
“You have not allowed him to tempt you into going, Hilton?”
“No, my dear,” said the baronet; “certainly not.”
He spoke out quickly and firmly, the glow of the virtuous who had resisted temptation warming his breast.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, laying her hand almost caressingly upon her lord’s shoulder. “It could only have meant gambling, risking money to win that of others. Hilton, my love, it is so vile and despicable.”
“Think so, Laura?” he said, with the cold chill of his wife’s words completely extinguishing the virtuous glow.