"What am I to say?"
"Let him be an attaché, or something of that sort."
"Do you believe it possible that he should pass any examination? I think that my children between them will bring me to the grave. You had better go now. I suppose you will want to be—at the races again." Then the young man crept out of the room, and going to his own part of the house shut himself up alone for nearly an hour. What had he better do to give his father some comfort? Should he abandon racing altogether, sell his share of Prime Minister and Coalition, and go in hard and strong for committees, debates, and divisions? Should he get rid of his drag, and resolve to read up parliamentary literature? He was resolved upon one thing at any rate. He would not go to the Oaks that day. And then he was resolved on another thing. He would call on Lady Mab Grex and ask her advice. He felt so disconsolate and insufficient for himself that he wanted advice from someone whom he could trust.
He found Tifto, Dolly Longstaff, and one or two others at the stables, from whence it was intended that the drag should start. They were waiting, and rather angry because they had been kept waiting. But the news, when it came, was very sad indeed. "You wouldn't mind taking the team down and back yourself; would you, Dolly?" he said to Longstaff.
"You aren't going!" said Dolly, assuming a look of much heroic horror.
"No;—I am not going to-day."
"What's up?" asked Popplecourt.
"That's rather sudden; isn't it?" asked the Major.
"Well; yes; I suppose it is sudden."
"It's throwing us over a little, isn't it?"