"Look at that man right there," flashed Helen proudly, indicating her husband, "and you can believe it."
Kitty laughed so gaily that Stanford turned to look at them with smiling inquiry.
"Never mind, Mr. Manning," said Kitty, "we are just reminiscing, that's all."
"Don't miss the race," he answered; "they're getting ready again to start. It looks like a go this time."
"And to think," murmured Kitty, "that I never so much as saw your Knight's picture! But you used to like Lawrence Knight, didn't you, Helen?" she added, as Helen lifted her field glasses again. And now, Mrs. Manning caught a note of earnest inquiry in her companion's voice. It was as though the girl were seeking confirmation of some purpose or decision of her own.
"Why, yes, Kitty, I liked Larry Knight very much," she answered frankly. "He was a fine fellow in many ways—a dear, good friend. Stanford and I are both very fond of him; they were college mates, you know. But, my dear girl, no one could ever consider poor old Larry seriously—as a man, you know—he is so—so utterly and hopelessly worthless."
"Worthless! With—how many millions is it?"
"Oh, Kitty, you know what I mean. But, really dear, we have talked enough about Mr. Lawrence Knight. I'm going to have another look at the cowboy. He looks like a real man, doesn't he? What is it the Dean called him?"
"Patches."
"Oh, yes; what a funny name—Patches."