"I always like to make a race of it, you know," he replied. "You see, I know my horses so well; nobody drives them but me, even in their work, and my wrist-watch"—he held his arm up—"tells me exactly how fast I am going, and if my horse keeps to his home time for the quarter and half miles, I know I shall be thereabouts at the finish."
Gay's eyes sparkled.
"I have enjoyed to-day so much," she said, "and I'm regularly bitten with trotting. It's much prettier to watch than racing—even over fences"—she glanced saucily at Chris—"and, Mr. Mackrell, I'll let you into a secret—I mean to buy some horses, and go in for the game! Will you help me choose them, or let me know when anything good comes into the market?"
Mackrell looked earnestly at the girl's eager face, then he glanced quickly at Chris. That gentleman's face expressed no opinion, presenting the stoic indifference that characterised equally his riding of a winner, or another disappointment.
"This is hardly a lady's game, you know," Mackrell protested, "and, fond as I am of it, I could not recommend you to take it up seriously. The surroundings are not quite of the same class as Ascot or Goodwood, you know, and you would be an isolated instance."
"Wear your plainest clothes, no ornaments, and bring no money with you," had been Carlton's significant instructions when Gay had expressed a wish to attend a trotting meeting—and who could possibly have expected that horses, everything, would appear to her under a rose-hued glamour that assuredly they did not possess? Gay did not notice the component elements of the crowd, as Chris did—the weather was dazzling, the sun cozened, illumined the scene, and with a lover on either side of her to make things pleasant, the novelty of everything intoxicated her. Trotting showed to her in most attractive guise, and very differently to how it did later.
"I don't care," she said wilfully, "I'm fond of it, and I mean to do it, so that's settled. If you give me the benefit of your experiences"—she turned to Carlton—"I shall be grateful, and I won't be more of a nuisance than I can help."
Carlton Mackrell bowed.
"You could never be a nuisance," he said gravely, "and my advice is always at your command."
Almost immediately after he left them, and full of her delightful project, escorted by Chris Hannen, Gay Lawless left the pretty little racecourse.