The Prince shook his head.
“No,” he said, “I should like to motor with you others, if I may.”
“Just as you like, of course,” the Duke agreed. “Grace’s mare is over there now. We shall be able to have a look at her before the race, at any rate.”
The opinions, after the Prince had left the table, were a little divided as to what was likely to happen.
“For a man who has never even hunted and knows nothing whatever about the country,” Somerfield declared, “to attempt to ride in a steeplechase of this sort is sheer folly. If you take my advice, Lady Grace, you will get out of it. Lady Barbarity is far too good a mare to have her knees broken.”
“I am perfectly content to take my risks,” Lady Grace answered confidently. “If the Prince had never ridden before in his life, I would trust him.”
Somerfield turned away, frowning.
“What do you think about it, Penelope?” he asked.
“I am afraid,” she answered, “that I agree with Grace.”
Two punctures and a leaking valve delayed them over an hour on the road. When they reached their destination, the first race was already over.