Their conversation, as was natural, turned on the approaching races. To Norah Macormac, Punchestown constituted, perhaps, the chief gala of the year. For those two days, alas! so often rainy, she reserved her freshest gloves, her newest bonnet, her brightest glances and smiles. To the pleasure everybody experiences in witnessing the performances of a good horse, she added the feminine enjoyment of showing her own pretty self in all her native attractions, set off by dress. It was no wonder she should impart to her companion that she wouldn't give up the races even for a trip to Paris. She calculated their delights as equal to a whole month's hunting, and at least twenty balls.
Miss Douglas, too, anticipated no little excitement from the same source. Her trip across the Channel, with its concomitant discipline, a new country, wild scenery, the good humour and cordiality that surrounded her, above all, the prospect of seeing Daisy again, had raised her spirits far above their usual pitch. Her cheek glowed, her eye sparkled, her tongue ran on. She could hardly believe herself the same reserved and haughty dame who was wont to ride from Prince's Gate to Hyde Park Corner, and find nothing worthy to cost her a sigh or win from her a smile.
"Everybody in Ireland goes there, absentees and all," said laughing Norah. "It's such fun, you can't think, with the different turn-outs, from the Lord Lieutenant's half-dozen carriages-and-four to Mr. Murphy's outside car, with Mrs. Murphy and nine children packed all over it. She never goes anywhere else with him; but you shall see her to-morrow in all her glory. We like to be on the course early, it's so amusing to watch the arrivals, and then we get good places on the Stand."
"Can you see well from the Ladies' Stand?" asked Blanche eagerly. "I'm rather interested in one of the races. You'll think me very sporting. I've not exactly got a horse to run, but there's a mare called Satanella going to start, and I confess I want to see her win."
Norah bounded like a young roe. "Satanella!" she repeated. "Why, that's Daisy's mount! It is to win, dear? Oh! then, if she doesn't win, or come very near it, I'll be fit to cry my eyes out, and never ask to go to a race again."
Her colour rose, her voice deepened, both gait and accent denoted the sincerity of her good wishes; and Miss Douglas, without quite admitting she had just cause for offence, felt as a dog feels when another dog is sniffing round his dinner.
"I've no doubt the mare will have justice done to her," she said severely. "He's a beautiful rider."
"A beautiful rider, and a beautiful mare entirely!" exclaimed her impulsive companion. "Now to think he should be such a friend of yours, and me never to know it! I can't always make him out," added Miss Norah pondering. "Sometimes he'll speak up, and sometimes he'll keep things back. You'll wonder to hear me when I tell you I haven't so much as seen this mare they make such a talk about!"
"I have ridden her repeatedly," observed Miss Douglas, with a considerable accession of dignity. "In fact, she is more mine than his, and I had to give him leave before he ever sent her to be trained."