“Iris! Iris! Iris wins!”
It was evident from the last shout and the gathering storm of excitement that, after all, it was to be a race. They were well in sight now; Nero the Second and Iris, racing neck-and-neck, drawing rapidly away from the others. The air shook with the sound of hoarse and fiercely excited voices.
“Nero the Second wins!”
“Iris wins!”
Neck-and-neck they passed the post. So it seemed at least to Ernestine and many others, but Trent shook his head and looked at her with a smile.
“Iris was beaten by a short neck,” he said. “Good thing you didn't back her. That's a fine horse of the Prince's, though!”
“I'm so sorry,” she cried. “Are you sure?”
He nodded and pointed to the numbers which were going up. She flashed a sudden look upon him which more than compensated him for his defeat. At least he had earned her respect that day, as a man who knew how to accept defeat gracefully. They walked slowly up the paddock and stood on the edge of the crowd, whilst a great person went out to meet his horse amidst a storm of cheering. It chanced that he caught sight of Trent on the way, and, pausing for a moment, he held out his hand.
“Your horse made a magnificent fight for it, Mr. Trent,” he said. “I'm afraid I only got the verdict by a fluke. Another time may you be the fortunate one!”
Trent answered him simply, but without awkwardness. Then his horse came in and he held out his hand to the crestfallen jockey, whilst with his left he patted Iris's head.