“Excuse my emotion,” he said. “The—the humour of it’s sort of dawning on me—that’s all.”
“ ‘Humour’?” cried Athalia.
“Humour—‘h’ mute. Let me explain. Only two runners for the Stakes, of which I’m one and the other won’t start. So I’m to show off my paces—play about on the course and generally show the other what fun running is, and then when it finally dawns on him that if he follows the rails they’ll bring him to the post, I’m to—— Well, where do I come in? I suppose I get a lump of sugar and a dazzling smile.”
“Perhaps,” said Athalia dreamily, “the other’ll never start.”
Punch set his teeth.
“Does it occur——”
“Perhaps,” continued Athalia, “when he does, you’ll leave him standing.” The man stared. “That’s my trouble. I love him desperately now—possibly because he doesn’t love me. But, once he’s started, you may go right away.”
Fairfax fingered his chin.
“D’you really think that likely?”
“It’s quite on the cards. At the moment I like you and I love him. So I obviously can’t marry you. If once he gets going, I shall see him in quite a new light. And then—why, I mayn’t love him at all.”