He took out his glass again, focussed it, and had a good look through it at the common, alive with horse, foot and artillery, in the shape of carriages laden with ammunition, loaded bottles ready to go off included.
“Does she do it to lead me on?” thought the doctor. “I wish I wasn’t such a coward. But, there, if the Sylph wins I shall feel independent, and can go at her without thinking I’m a money-hunter. Then, if shell ask me to dinner, which I think she will, the wine will be in and the wit may be out, but I’ll pop as well as her champagne, and know the worst. By Jove!”
He closed his glass suddenly, for, brightly and fashionably dressed, Lady Tilborough passed close to the window and stopped his view of the common. The next minute she was entering the hall.
Chapter Twelve.
The Floating Cloud.
“Oh, there you are, Simpkins! You must make room for my carriage. Order them to give my coachman a separate stable. Lock up. Ah, Dr Granton, I thought you’d come and see my mare win.”
“I came down on purpose to see you, Lady Tilborough,” was the reply, given with a warm pressure of the hand. “But, of course, I am longing to see your mare carry all before her.”
“Thanks, doctor, thanks,” said the lady, with a meaning smile which made the doctor thrill. “Yes, I mean to win. There are some nice people staying at the Court. I’ll introduce you on the stand, if I have time. But you’ll come over afterwards and dine?”