Incubus lay on her back in the hay and chewed reflectively on a straw. "You know, Watson," she said, "there are finer things in life than racing."
"What, for instance?"
She simpered. "I've been talking to Pamplemousse—you know, Godlove's horse—and he says it isn't ethical what I'm doing, that I'm competing with horses way below my class, that it isn't fair."
"But there aren't any horses in your class."
"I know," she sighed. "Sometimes superiority can have its disadvantages. That's what Pamplemousse says—he says it isn't fair for me to run at all. Says woman's place is in the home. Do you think woman's place is in the home, Watson?"
Prunella neighed in the adjoining stall.
"That's a dirty lie!" Incubus shrieked, getting up. "I double dare you to say it once more." Prunella kept silence.
"You're in love, Incubus?" Watson asked gently.
She bowed her head. "I didn't know I could be—I thought I was too tough. But you're never too tough. Oh, I know I'm a stake horse and he's still only a claimer but I love him just the same."
"Well, if that's the way you feel about it, Inky, I guess you have a right to. Only"—he gulped—"I'd entered you in the Belmont Futurity and it means ... so much to me."