“I—I—help you?”
“Hold up, Hilt, or you’ll break your knees. It’s an emergency—no time to lose. La Sylphide must come up to the scratch.”
“Oh!” groaned Sir Hilton. “Impossible. Try to put another jock on her, and she’ll murder him. You know what she is. There, pray leave me. I must do a bit of writing before I go.”
“Hilt!” cried Lady Tilborough, flushing with energy, as she sprang up and snatched her whip from the table, to swish it about and make it whistle through the air. “You make me feel as if I could lash you till you howled. Be a man. Suicide! Bah! You’ll have to die quite soon enough. Now then, listen. This is the only chance. In the terrible emergency I’ve come to you. Now, quick, there isn’t a minute to spare. You must help me.”
“I? How?”
“Can’t you see?”
“I’m stunned.”
“Oh, what a man! You must ride the mare yourself.”
“And win.”
“Impossible!”