"I hope you may," he said heartily, feeling that every moment he liked her better. "But apart from racing, the fact is, your roads are not made for trotters and pacers, and if you want something showy, you prefer a hackney. In short, you run to dogcarts, not road wagons; you're a sociable people—and in my opinion nothing will ever establish Trotting as a favourite sport in England."
Chris gave Gay a comical look, and picked up the Looking-Glass (that he had already seen, much to his disgust) which lay on a table near.
"Someone sent the Professor a copy," said Gay carelessly. "It had a note of interrogation against it, and was meant to be rude, I think. I wonder who it is that takes so much trouble about poor little me?"
The door opened pat on the question, and Lossie Holden came in, a radiant apparition, but as Rensslaer was introduced, "society," he said to himself, then glancing at Gay, added "sport" with appreciative emphasis.
"What are you looking at?" she said coolly, and took the Looking-Glass from Chris's hand. "How nice! You might almost have posed for it, Gay!"
"Do you think so?" Gay inquired. "But I didn't, you know."
"Of course not," Lossie agreed. "As if you could!" But meeting Chris's eyes, she looked away—he had an excellent idea of who had sent the Looking-Glass to the Professor, and she knew it.
"Why don't you drive yourself, Miss Lawless?" said Rensslaer quietly.
"Oh, if I only dared!" cried Gay warmly, and clasped her hands together eagerly.
"Well," said Rensslaer, "in Berlin there was an outcry when a lady drove for me, but in Vienna it was otherwise—quite a feather in the lady's cap, in short. But then everything is done in such a nice way that it is a pleasure to race there, and the Trotting races are the most fashionable sport in Vienna."