"I used to have one," she said—"till last year: tremendously."
"What's that?"
"To ride the National winner."
She peeped to see if he was mocking. He was sober as a judge.
"You may yet."
"Not now."
"Why not?" he asked. "Because it's against the National Hunt Rules?"
"Not that," she said with scorn. "I could get round their rotten rules if I wanted."
"How?" he asked.
She glanced at him warily.