"It's not about myself," he said; "it's you. I believe I tempted you to back the beastly horse. And he would have won—a fair race, and he would have won easy. He was winning. He passed the stand a head ahead. He did win. It's a scandal to the Turf. There's an end of racing in England. It's up. They've done for themselves to-day. There's a gang. It's in the hands of confederates."
"Think so, if it consoles you," said Mrs. Lovell, "don't mention your thoughts, that is all."
"I do think so. Why should we submit to a robbery? It's a sold affair.
That Frenchman, Baron Vistocq, says we can't lift our heads after it."
"He conducts himself with decency, I hope."
"Why, he's won!"
"Imitate him."
Mrs. Lovell scanned the stalls.
"Always imitate the behaviour of the winners when you lose," she resumed. "To speak of other things: I have had no letter of late from Edward. He should be anxious to return. I went this morning to see that unhappy girl. She consents."
"Poor creature," murmured Algernon; and added "Everybody wants money."
"She decides wisely; for it is the best she can do. She deserves pity, for she has been basely used."