“Oh, well, I don't understand.” Mrs. Pendyce dropped her eyes, a flush came into her white cheeks; she looked up again and said quickly: “George, I should like just a little bet on your horse—a real bet, say about a sovereign.”
George Pendyce's creed permitted the show of no emotion. He smiled.
“All right, mother, I'll put it on for you. It'll be about eight to one.”
“Does that mean that if he wins I shall get eight?”
George nodded.
Mrs. Pendyce looked abstractedly at his tie.
“I think it might be two sovereigns; one seems very little to lose, because I do so want him to win. Isn't Helen Bellew perfectly charming this morning! It's delightful to see a woman look her best in the morning.”
George turned, to hide the colour in his cheeks.
“She looks fresh enough, certainly.”
Mrs. Pendyce glanced up at him; there was a touch of quizzicality in one of her lifted eyebrows.