"Good old Min!" exclaimed Mackrell. "I'm sorry for anyone who attempts to bully Miss Gay in her presence."
Chris laughed.
"Have a drink, old man, and buck up," he said. "Unless I'm much mistaken, Miss Gay drove her first and last race to-day, and her horses will be "scratched" without delay. It wouldn't trouble me much if mine were," he added gloomily, "for I have no luck."
The telephone bell rang.
"Yes—yes—are you there? It's all right, Mr. Chris, Miss Lossie is gone—I've rated the Professor, and put Miss Gay to bed. There's been a lot of fur and feathers flying ... that Miss Lossie. I 'phoned Mr. Mackrell at his club, but he wasn't there. Miss Gay wanted him to call to-morrow morning first thing after breakfast—"
"Here," said Chris, and held out the receiver to Carlton.
"Oh! it's you, Mr. Mackrell, that's all right—yes, I'll 'phone Miss Gay in the morning that you're coming. What ... you can't ... you're going to Paris! Miss Gay sent her love to Mr. Chris. Good-night."
* * * * * *
Gay had made no reply to the frequent and irritating knocks on her door, but soon after eight had struck, a welcome voice issuing from the keyhole made her jump up, and promptly turn the key.
"My lamb," cried Min Toplady, folding her in a motherly embrace, and Gay, clinging to her, cried her heart out, and was comforted and made comfortable, and presently, with the blinds pulled down, a wood fire lit, and a dinner tray placed before her that the cook had carefully prepared, Gay was able to laugh at herself, and even enjoy Min's unconcealed delight at the brilliant style in which she had won her race that day.