“So far as I am concerned,” he said, “that is of no account. There was a day at Mukden—I do not like to talk of it, but it comes back to me—when I rode twelve different horses in twenty-four hours, but perhaps,” he added, turning to Lady Grace, “you would not care to trust your horse with one who is a stranger to your—what is it you call them?—steeplechases.”
“On the contrary, Prince,” Lady Grace exclaimed, “you shall ride her, and I am going to back you for all I am worth.”
Bransome, who was also in riding clothes, although he was not taking part in the steeplechases himself, glanced at the clock.
“You are running it rather fine,” he said. “You’ll scarcely have time to hack round the course.”
“Some one must explain it to me,” the Prince said. “I need only to be told where to go. If there is no time for that, I must stay with the other horses until the finish. There is a flat finish perhaps?”
“About three hundred yards,” the Duke answered.
“Have you any riding clothes?” Penelope whispered to him.
“Without a doubt,” he answered. “I will go and change in a few minutes.”
“We start in half an hour,” Somerfield remarked. “Even that allows us none too much time.”
“Perhaps,” the Duke suggested diffidently, “you would like to ride over, Prince? It is a good eleven miles, and you would have a chance of getting into your stride.”