“Don’t, don’t, don’t!” she cried passionately.
“Don’t?” said Sir Hilton. “What have I done?”
“Called me Lady Tilborough in that cold, formal way, just as if you were going to refuse before I asked; and us such very, very old friends!”
“Well, Hetty, then. My dear old girl, what is the matter?”
“Ah, that’s better, Hilt,” said the lady, with a sigh of relief. “We are such old friends, aren’t we?—even if you have married that dreadfully severe wife who looks upon me as an awfully wicked woman.”
“Which you are not, Hetty,” said Sir Hilton, warmly.
“Thank ye, Hilt dear. That does me good,” she said, drawing away her hands and beginning to wipe her eyes. “I always felt that I could trust to you if I had a spill. Tilborough always used to say: ‘If you’re in any trouble, go to dear old Hilt, unless it’s money matters; and in them don’t trust him, for he’s a perfect baby.’”
“Did Lord Tilborough say that?” cried Sir Hilton, frowning.
“Yes, old fellow,” sighed the lady; “and it’s quite true. There, don’t look black, Hilty, dear old man. You know you ruined yourself, and so you would anyone else who trusted you with money.”
“Lady Tilborough!” cried Sir Hilton, indignantly.