“Stop that, dear boy. No stilts. Be honest. You know it’s true. Here, sit down and listen. I want your help.”
“Hadn’t you better go to some other friend?” said Sir Hilton, sinking back in a chair at some distance, crossing his legs, and kicking the uppermost one up and down angrily. “Dr Granton, for instance.”
“You leave Jack Granton out of the case, stupid. He wants to marry me, though he has never said so. He’s a thoroughly good fellow; but, of course, I couldn’t go to him, even if he could help me, and he can’t.”
“How can I, Lady Tilborough?”
“Hetty!” said the lady, sternly.
“Well, Hetty, then.”
“That’s better, Hilt, old man. Here, I’ll tell you directly. Look at me.”
She paused to fight down a passion of hysterical laughter.
“My dear little woman!” said Sir Hilton, springing up.
“Keep away! Don’t touch me!” cried his visitor.