The conversation was all trivial and customary. But Joan Whitworth leaned forward with a light upon her face that had never yet burnt there. Colonel Luttrell was presented to Mr. Albany Todd, who was most kind and condescending. Joan looked suddenly down at her bilious frock, and the horror of her sandals was something she could hardly bear. They would turn to her next. Yes, they would turn to her! She looked desperately towards the great staircase with its broad, shallow steps which ran up round two sides of the hall. Millie Splay was actually beginning to turn to her, when Dennis Brown came unconsciously to her rescue.
"We looked out for you at Gatwick," he said.
"I only just reached the race course in time for the last race," said Harry Luttrell. "Luckily for me."
"Why luckily?" asked Harold Jupp in surprise.
"Because I backed the winner," replied Luttrell.
The indefatigable race-goers gathered about him a little closer; and Joan Whitworth rose noiselessly from her chair.
"Which horse won?" asked Harold Jupp.
"Loman!" Harold Jupp stared at Dennis Brown. Incredulity held them as in bonds.
"But he couldn't win!" they both cried in a breath.
"He did, you know, and at a long price."