"Yes, I remember," said Blair, leaning back and gazing into the fire. "That's the horse you thought so well of, isn't it?"
Austin Ambrose colored faintly.
"Well, I don't know. I would not put it exactly that way. But I did think he had a chance, and I backed him myself for as much as I could afford," he said in a much lower tone than Blair had used, for he did not want the marquis and the colonel to hear them.
"And he lost?" said Blair, indifferently. "Well, somebody must lose," and he shrank back in his chair as if he were both weary and cold.
"I suppose the money is all right?—I mean that you have a balance at the bank?" said Austin Ambrose.
Blair nodded languidly.
"I suppose so. Oh, yes, I think so," he said, carelessly. "If not, Tyler & Driver will see to it."
Then he relapsed into his old attitude, and into the silence which had lately become habitual to him. Presently he rose and absently took two or three turns up and down the room. He was the shadow of his former self in bulk, but the stalwart frame was there still, and the marquis and Floyd watched him sadly.
"Going home, Blair?" said the colonel, in that tone of forced cheerfulness which we use toward a friend that has been stricken down by illness or a great sorrow.
"Home?" he said, with a little start and suppressed shudder. "Good heavens, no! What should I do with the rest of the night?"