, Sir Hilton. You see, we've driv' over here since.
You would get up and come."

"Of course! Home--to my wife. That's right; I can see that quite
plain, and--Here you two on the sofa, what are you doing? You, Syd, let
that young lady alone, sir. Sit up, my dear. It isn't delicate for you
to be going to sleep on his shoulder like that."

"Yes, it is--now," whimpered the girl, half crying. "I can't help it.
I'm so dreadfully sleepy."

"Of course you are, of course. Poor little thing! Half-past three!
Why, you ought to have been in bed hours ago. It was shameful of your
father to bring you here. But--but--but," cried the unfortunate man,
staring and gesticulating fiercely, "why doesn't someone tell me?"

"I did tell yer, Sir Hilton. The hosses was put in the dogcarts when
you would come, and I've seen you safe. Can't you understand now?"

"No, no; not a bit. Here, Syd!"

"Yes, uncle."

"Come here."

"Yes, uncle. There, lean your head back, Molly, if you will go to
sleep."

"I can't help it, Syd dear; and I'm so cold."

"Here, pull that over you, then," whispered the boy hastily, and, as the
poor girl sank back, he seized and gave the great silk-lined skin a
hasty twitch which swept it right over his young wife. "Did you call
me, uncle?"

"Yes, of course. I want Mark and that girl."

"What girl, uncle?" cried the lad, indignantly.

"What girl, sir? Jane, the maid. Where are they?"

"Gone to the pantry, I s'pose, uncle," said Syd, giving a glance in the
direction of the couch and seeing nothing now but the hump of white,
woolly skin. "Gone to bed, p'raps. I say, uncle; do go too. You'll be
able to think better when you wake up."

"Wake up!" said Sir Hilton, musingly--"remember? Yes; something about a
boy--no, a girl on a bicycle. I did, didn't I?--talk to a girl--or see
one on a bicycle--no, it was in pale blue and scarlet I did, didn't I,
Sam?"

"Yes, sir; I think you did--to my gal there."

Sir Hilton looked in the direction in which the trainer pointed, and saw
the Polar bear skin; nothing more.

"Where?" he said vacantly, as he turned his eyes back upon the trainer,
who was wiping the drops again from his steaming face. "Your girl--Mary
Ann Simpkins--La Sylphide?"

"Oh, pore chap, he's quite off his head!" groaned the trainer. "It
means a 'sylum, and if old Trimmer splits--"

"Ha!" cried Sir Hilton, in a tone which made the trainer spring to his
feet, staring wildly at