Poor Daisy! Everybody was sorry for him, everybody except the owner and a few friends who won largely on Shaneen, regretted his disappointment, and shrugged their shoulders at the heavy losses it was known to have entailed. His brother-officers looked grave, but bestirred themselves, nevertheless, for the next race. His trainer shook his head, glancing wistfully at the spur marks on the mare's reeking sides. The very crowd condoled with him, for he had ridden to admiration, and the accident that discomfited him was patent to all. Even Mr. Sullivan, whose own hopes had been blighted by the defeat of the chestnut, expressed an opinion that "Av' it could be run again, though there wasn't a pound between them, it was his belief the mare would win!"
Mr. Walters, however, true to his nature, kept a bold face over a troubled heart, yet had a difficult task to control his feelings, when he emerged from the enclosure after weighing, and found his hand seized by the Roscommon farmer in a grip that inflicted no slight physical pain.
"Ah! now, Captain," exclaimed Denis, who had flung himself on a horse, and galloped back from the Big Double, just too late to witness the finish. "Sure ye rode it beautiful! An' the mare, I seen her myself, come out from them all in wan blaze, like a sky-rocket! Bate, says they, by a neck? I'll niver believe it! Annyways, ye'll need to pay the wagers. See, now, Captain, I parted a score o' heifers, only last Friday was it, by good luck, and I've got the money here—rale Dublin notes—inside my coat-tail pocket. Take as much as ye'd be likely to want, Captain. What's a trifle like that betwixt you an' me? Oh! the mare would have wan, safe enough, av' she had fair play. See to her now, she's got her wind back. Begorra! She's ready to go again!"
Daisy was no creature of impulse,—the last man in the world to be fooled by any sentiment of the moment,—yet tears filled his eyes, and he could scarce find a voice to thank his humble friend, while he declined an offer that came straight from the farmer's warm and generous heart.
Denis looked disappointed, wrung "the Captain's" hand hard, and vanished in a convenient booth to console himself with another "dandy" of punch.
Patting the mare fondly, and even laying his cheek against her warm, wet neck, the losing jockey retired to change silk and doeskin for his usual dress, in which, with his usual easy manner, he swaggered up to the stand. Here, as has been said, his defeat excited considerable sympathy, and, indeed, in one quarter, positive consternation. Two young ladies had accompanied him through the race, with their hearts as with their eyes. When his efforts ended in defeat, both were deeply affected, though in different ways. Norah Macormac could not refrain from tears, but conscious that mamma was on the watch, hid her face in a ridiculously small pocket-handkerchief, pretending to sneeze and blow her nose, as if she had caught cold. Blanche Douglas, on the contrary, looked round fierce, wistful, and defiant, like a wild creature at bay. Even Daisy, approaching jauntily to receive his friends' condolences could not but observe how pale she was, yet how collected and composed.
"I've not punished her much," said he, addressing himself, in the first instance, to the real owner of the vanquished mare. "She's as good as I told you, Miss Douglas. It was no fault of hers. If I hadn't been a muff I'd have killed the old woman, and won in a canter! Never mind; your favourite, at least, has not disgraced her name, and I'm very glad I called her Satanella."
She laid her hand softly on his arm, and looked straight into his eyes. "Did you stand it all?" said she. "Is it as bad as you said? Tell me! Quick! I cannot bear suspense."
"Never laid off a shilling," he answered lightly. "Never even backed her for a place. I swore I'd be a man or a mouse, as you know, and it's come up—mouse!"