“You have become famous,” she said. “Do you know that you are going to be made a lion?”
“I suppose the papers have been talking a lot of rot,” he answered bluntly. “I've had a fairly rough time, and I'm glad to tell you this, Miss Wendermott—I don't believe I'd ever have succeeded but for your nephew Fred. He's the pluckiest boy I ever knew.”
“I am very pleased to hear it,” she answered. “He's a dear boy!”
“He's a brick,” Trent answered. “We've been in some queer scrapes together—I've lots of messages for you! By the by, are you alone?”
“For the moment,” she answered; “Mr. Davenant left me as you came up. I'm with my cousin, Lady Tresham. She's on the lawn somewhere.”
He looked down the paddock and back to her.
“Walk with me a little way,” he said, “and I will show you Iris before she starts.”
“You!” she exclaimed.
He pointed to the card. It was surely an accident that she had not noticed it before. Mr. Trent's Iris was amongst the entries for the Gold Cup.
“Why, Iris is the favourite!”