“You ought to be proud of her. She has taken all London by storm.”
“So I hear, sir. I am proud on her, for she’s as good as she is high.”
“That I’m sure she is, Sam; bright, clever, witty, and not a bit of harm in her, I’ll swear.”
“Right you are, sir. Sleep here to-night, sir?”
“Of course. I wired down.”
“I didn’t know, sir. Then, of course, it’s booked. Dine too, sir?”
“Can’t say, Sam. I hope I shall be engaged. If I’m not I shall throw myself on Miss Simpkins’s mercy.”
“You’ll be all right, sir. I’ve laid in plenty o’ grub.”
The doctor nodded, and as the landlord went on studying his betting-book he unstrapped and took out his race-glass, wiped the lenses thoughtfully, took a look through, after careful focussing, and put it back in the case.
“Bless her!” he said to himself. “She’s the dearest little witch that ever breathed. She ought to have been here by now. They haven’t seen her at the paddock, and I can’t get a peep at La Sylphide. I believe they haven’t brought her up yet. Well, no wonder, considering her temper. Josh Rowle knows what he’s about.”