he frown on Lady Lisle's brow deepened. "I'm
afraid, Hilton," she said, "that Dr Granton's business may have
something to do with the races."

"Eh? Indeed! Well, now you say so, I suppose it is possible."

"You have not allowed him to tempt you into going, Hilton?"

"No, my dear," said the baronet; "certainly not."

He spoke out quickly and firmly, the glow of the virtuous who had
resisted temptation warming his breast.

"Thank you, dear," she said, laying her hand almost caressingly upon her
lord's shoulder. "It could only have meant gambling, risking money to
win that of others. Hilton, my love, it is so vile and despicable."

"Think so, Laura?" he said, with the cold chill of his wife's words
completely extinguishing the virtuous glow.

"Think so? Oh, yes, Hilton. You cannot imagine how happy you make me
by the way you are casting behind you your old weaknesses, and are
devoting yourself to Parliamentary study."

"For which I fear I am very unfit," said Sir Hilton; and he turned cold
directly after at a horrible thought which seemed to stun him.

Suppose she should say, "Well, give it up," and want to withdraw that
balance at the bank! "What an idiot I was to say that!" he thought.
But relief--partial relief--came the next minute.

"That is your modesty, my dear," said Lady Lisle. "I flatter myself
that I know your capabilities better than you know them yourself.
Hilton, I shall devote myself to the task of being your Parliamentary
secretary, and I mean that you shall shine."

"Thank you, my dear," said the unhappy man, sadly, as he thought of the
daring venture he had set in commission, and began to repent as he
walked to the window and looked out.

"I ought not to have risked that money, though. Suppose the mare lost,"
he mused. "Bah! I know her too well. There isn't a horse can touch
her in the straight, and it will regularly set me up. I shan't have to
go begging for a cheque, and then have `What for, darling?' ringing in
my ears. Hang it all! It makes a man feel so small. Why, the very
servants pity me--I know they do. And as for that old scoundrel
Trimmer--oh, if I could only give him something, even if it were only a
wife to keep him short!"

"Suppose--" he thought again, and could get no farther than that one
word, which, like the nucleus of a comet, sent out behind or before it a
tail of enormous proportions--a sort of gaseous mist of horrible
probabilities concerning that fo