"But why is it, Moordown, certain low bookmakers are offering such long prices against Highdrift, and openly boasting that he is as good as dead for the race to-morrow?"
There was no reply.
"You must answer me," putting her hand on his arm. "This concerns your honour."
"I cannot tell you."
"But you must," stamping her little foot, "Is it money?"
"If you must know, it is. I have had a run of bad luck, and am in difficulties, and the scoundrels plot to drag my name in the gutter. I cannot remain to be disgraced. If I never see you again, Blanche, think as kindly of me as you can."
"Nonsense; that is not like you. You will stop and face the difficulties when I tell you. I cannot remain any longer from my guests, but promise to see me in the morning at ten punctually; and, remember, if Highdrift does not win to-morrow you are to expect no more flowers from me," and she gave him a rose out of her magnificent bouquet.
Moordown did not feel so depressed after this interview.
Next morning the word went round that Highdrift had passed a bad night. Anyone seeing the clear eye and glossy coat of that horse as he stood in his loose box would, perhaps, have formed a different opinion.