"Hurt? Of course not!" she said, chuckling; "only badly frightened! And anyway, I've won my gloves!"
Soon after, Chris went over to change, and Gay was all impatience for his race to begin.
"You'll see something worth looking at," she informed the others. "Whenever I see Chris ride I think there's nothing like Steeplechasing, and whenever I see Mr. Mackrell drive, I think nothing can touch Trotting. I really believe I prefer Trotting, though, for it hasn't the danger of this game, and I don't like to see anyone I'm fond—anyone I know—run such risks."
"After all," said Effie, "it's a gentleman's sport, and if the dear boy will break his neck at it, he must. But as to your Trotting mania, Gay," hurriedly changing the conversation as Gay whitened, "frankly, I don't think it's good enough for you, and Carlton ought to be ashamed of himself for infecting you with his taste for it."
"He didn't," retorted Gay. "I maintain that a perfect Trotter is every bit as pretty a sight as a horse racing—and not half so dangerous."
"Well, well!" said Effie, a shade of anxiety on her small, weather-beaten face, "take care you don't get drawn in too far, and talked about—it's unusual, you know, a girl going in for that sort of thing, and not quite nice. Pity you can't hand Mackrell over to Lossie—the Trotting Meetings would be good enough for her—they're not for you. Frankly, I think the Professor for once is quite right there."
But Gay was not listening, she was just asking herself whether she really were fond of Chris, and how fond, when that gentleman cantered by with a cheerful nod, her opinion of him in the saddle being amply justified.
His lithe, graceful figure was seen to its best advantage in colours, while his long legs seemed riveted to his horse's sides—leaning slightly forward, and standing in his stirrups, he and his mount were in the most perfect unison, and personified the very poetry of motion.
"He'll take a lot of beating," one of the men on the coach prophesied. "He never says much about his horses, but I know he's very sweet on his chance to-day. I'm going into the Ring to back him," he added to Gay. "Can I do anything for you?"
"Put half-a-sovereign on for me, please," Gay replied, producing the coin, "and see if you can't get over the odds, whatever they are; say it's for a lady," she laughed, and the man lingered a moment to look at her bright face—yes, there was no doubt about it, all the men liked Gay.