"Oh, not at all," returns Mr. Thornton, modestly: "I don't pretend to anything. I flatter myself I know a likely animal when I see it—nothing more."
"I always thought you intended making your fortune in that line," continues Sir Mark, lazily. "The last time I met you, in the spring, you were radiant in the possession of so many more hundreds than you ever hoped to obtain."
"Oh, Mr. Thornton, is it possible you go in for betting?" murmurs Bebe, with a glance enchantingly reproachful. "I had placed you on such a high pinnacle in my estimation and now what am I to think? I feel so disappointed."
"Don't," entreats Chips, sentimentally. "If you begin to think badly of me, I shall do something desperate. Besides, I really only put on a mere trifle now and then; nothing at all to signify; wouldn't ruin a man if he were at it forever. You should see how some fellows bet. Don't you know—-"
"Did you do well last Ascot?" asks Chandos, in tone that is meant to be genial.
"Well, no; not quite so well as I might wish," with a faint blush. "Fact is, I rather overdid it—risked my little all upon the die—and lost."
"Showing how natural talent has no chance against the whims of fickle fortune. Even the very knowing ones, you see, Mrs. Carrington, have to knock under sometimes," says Sir Mark.
"How was it?" I ask Chips, with a smile.
"Oh! it was a beastly shame," responds that young man. "The horse would have won in a walk if he had got fair play. It was the most outrageous transaction altogether. If the rider had gone straight, there was not an animal in the running could have beaten him. It was the clearest case of pulling you ever saw."
Lady Blanche laughs softly.