on. Brought round the pony-carriage."

"Oh! Gone out?"

"Yes, Sir Hilton."

"What are you waiting for?"

"Morning's paper, Sir Hilton," said the man, obsequiously, as he drew a
sporting-print from his pocket and held it out meaningly turned down at
a particular spot.

"What's that?" said the baronet, glancing at one line, and then, turning
angrily, "Take it away!" he cried.

"Beg pardon, Sir Hilton. Tilborough first Summer Meeting."

"Take it away!"

"Yes, sir; but La Sylphide."

"Look here, Mark, my lad, no more of this. I know, of course, but take
it away. Do you want to drive me mad?"

"Beg pardon, Sir Hilton. Then you won't drive over in the dogcart?"

"What?"

"Just to see her pull it off, Sir Hilton."

"Confound it, man! Hold your tongue! Be off!"

At that moment there were steps on the gravel, and directly after a peal
arose from the door-bell.

"Go and see who that is, sir, and never mention anything connected with
the Turf again. It's dead to me, and I'm dead to it," he muttered, as
the man left the room, giving place to Jane, who hurried in with covered
dishes upon a tray.

"Did you see who that was, Jane?"

"No, Sir Hilton. Some gentleman on horseback. His horse is hooked on
one side of the gate."

"Who the deuce can it be?"

"Dr Granton, sir," said the groom, coming to the door.

"Oh! Where is he?"

"Study, sir."

"Bring him in here."

Sir Hilton looked quite transformed. There was a bright, alert look in
his erstwhile dull eyes, and he seemed to pull himself together as he
started actively from his chair, and made as if to hurry after his
groom.

But he was too late, for the door reopened, and Mark showed in a
handsome, dark, military-looking man of about five-and-thirty, who
marched in, hunting-crop in hand, spurs jingling faintly at his heels,
and dressed in faultless taste as a horseman.

"My dear old Jack!"

"Hilt, old boy!"

"This is a surprise. Here, Jane, another cover; the doctor will
breakfast with me."

"My dear fellow, I breakfasted at eight."

"Never mind; have an eleven's. Mouthful of corn then never hurt anyone.
A chair here, Mark. That will do, my man."

Mark backed out, with the half-grin, which had sprung up on seeing his
master's animation, dying out, and shaking his head, while the visitor
turned the chair placed for him back to the table and bestrode it as if
it were a horse.

"Whatever brings you down into this dismal region?"