s understand that we are
married?"

"No, pet, he hasn't an idea."

"What a shame!" cried the girl. "You said you'd tell him at once."

"Look at him! What's the good of telling him now, when every word would
roll off him like water from a duck's back, and not one go in?"

"I don't know; try. If you don't, I shall. There, I will," cried the
girl, and starting up before Syd could stop her, she planted herself
theatrically before Sir Hilton, and with an arch look, and her eyes
twinkling, she laid a hand upon the baronet's arm, saying--

"Please, Sir Hilton, shall I do?"

He stared at her wonderingly for some moments.

"Eh?" he said. "Do? Who is it?"

"Miss Simpkins, Sir Hilton. You know--La Sylphide."

Sir Hilton laid his left hand upon his forehead, and gazed at the girl
thoughtfully.

"La Sylphide?" he said at last. "Did she win?"

"Yes, Sir Hilton, by three lengths," cried the girl, eagerly; "but,
please, don't you know me?"

"No," said Sir Hilton, shaking his head. "No."

"There, I told you so," whispered Syd. "He's quite off his nut."

"But I'm your niece, Sir Hilton," persisted the girl, pressing up to
him, as if asking for an avuncular kiss; "and I'm Mrs Sydney Smithers."

"Yes," said Sir Hilton, thoughtfully, as Syd took his young wife's
announcement as his cue to rise, and stood by her ready to receive a
share of the coming blessing--or the other thing.

"Thank you, yes," said Sir Hilton, dreamily. "Yes, I know you now. La
Sylphide, the mare, won, and you are La Sylphide too, the pretty little
girl at the big music-hall who called herself after my mare. Thank you,
Miss Simpkins. I hope you won a pair of gloves."

"Oh, dear!" cried the girl, pouting; "he don't understand a bit. I
suppose, Syd, we must wait till he comes round. But do you think it was
our champagne that made him so ill? Oh, here's dad. Daddy dear, Sir
Hilton's quite off his head still."

"Yes, my gal, I know."

"But do you think our champagne was bad enough to make him as queer as
this?"

"What!" roared the trainer, with his face turning mottled. "No,
cert'n'y not. Hold your tongue! Well, Sir Hilton, how are you now?"

"Never better, Sam! never better. A little thick in the head only. You
need not trouble any more about me."

"Oh, but I do, Sir Hilton."

"Nonsense, man!" said the baronet, drawing himself up. "I'm quite
right. I can't understand how it was you persisted in coming, and
bringing you