“If, as you say and as I believe, she loves, or has loved you, I don’t think she’ll do so. She’ll submit to a little parleying, and then she’ll capitulate. But it will be much better that you should see her, if possible, without writing at all.”
“I don’t like the idea of calling at Grey Abbey. I wonder whether they’ll go to London this season?”
“If they do, you can go after them. The truth is simply this, Ballindine; Miss Wyndham will follow her own fancy in the matter, in spite of her guardian; but, if you make no further advances to her, of course she can make none to you. But I think the game is in your own hand. You haven’t the head to play it, or I should consider the stakes as good as won.”
“But then, about these horses, Dot. I wish I could sell them, out and out, at once.”
“You’ll find it very difficult to get anything like the value for a horse that’s well up for the Derby. You see, a purchaser must make up his mind to so much outlay: there’s the purchase-money, and expense of English training, with so remote a chance of any speedy return.”
“But you said you’d advise me to sell them.”
“That’s if you can get a purchaser:—or else run them in another name. You may run them in my name, if you like it; but Scott must understand that I’ve nothing whatever to do with the expense.”
“Would you not buy them yourself, Blake?”
“No. I would not.”
“Why not?”