“Well, I think it is very hard upon Delhi, father, after keeping ahead all the way and going so nicely. I think everyone ought to do their best from the first.”
“I fancy you are thinking, Miss Hunter,” the Doctor said, “quite as much that it is hard on you being beaten after your hopes had been raised, as it is upon the horse.”
“Perhaps I am, Doctor,” she admitted.
“I think it is much harder on me,” Isobel said. “You have had the satisfaction of thinking all along that your horse was going to win, while mine never gave me the least bit of hope.”
“The proper expression, Miss Hannay, is, your horse never flattered you.”
“Then I think it is a very silly expression, Mr. Wilson, because I don't see that flattery has anything to do with it.”
“Ah, here is Bathurst,” the Doctor said. “Where have you been, Bathurst? You slipped away from me just now.”
“I've just been talking to the Commissioner, Doctor. I have been trying to get him to see—”
“Why, you don't mean to say,” the Doctor broke in, “that you have been trying to cram your theories down his throat on a racecourse?”
“It was before the race began,” Bathurst said, “and I don't think the Commissioner has any more interest in racing than I have.”