"If Vanity Girl fails," Dorothy asked, on the morning of the race, "you won't have a halfpenny left?"
"I might have an odd hundred pounds," Tony reckoned.
"And your mother—and Bella?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"I suppose Uncle Chat will look after them."
"And us?"
"Oh, we'll emigrate or something. Rather fun, don't you know. I shall wangle something. The going will be hardish," he said, looking at the sky, "and that's always in her favor. She hated that Newmarket mud last autumn. Come on, Doodles, the car's waiting."
They walked down the steps of the flat, and the porter who had hurried out to shut the door of the car touched his cap.
"Good luck, my lady! Good luck, my lord! Shepherd's Market is on Vanity Girl to the last copper."
"Put on a sovereign for yourself, Galloway," said his lordship, grandly proffering the coin.