“Yes, my lady,” cried Jane, beaming upon the natty little body, and taking in her dress with one glance.
“Here I am, Hilt, dear boy,” cried the visitor, as the door closed. “Caught you all alone, for I passed your wife, and she cut me dead. Here I am!”
“Yes, I see you are,” groaned Sir Hilton; and then to himself: “Temptation once again, and in its most tempting form.”
Chapter Seven.
A Diabolical Business.
If the old writers were right, so was Sir Hilton Lisle, as he drew a chair forward and placed it ready for his attractive visitor, who gave the long folds of her riding-habit a graceful sweep, and then dropped with an elastic plump into the seat.
“Oh, Hilt, dear boy! Oh, Hilt!” she cried, bursting into tears.
“My dear Lady Tilborough!” he cried, catching her hands in his, as she dabbed her whip down on the table with a smart blow; “what is the matter?”