Then at last she looked at him. Her cheeks were burning, and her eyes were brimming with tears that only pride held back.
"It isn't the old race," she said defiantly. "It's—it's Mick."
Two tears suddenly welled over and dropped on the red head of the dog, who responded with an adoring look and a wild attempt to lick her face.
"Oh, I've had him since he was six weeks old!" she cried impulsively. "I reared him and trained him myself! He knows every word I say."
Milbanke suddenly looked relieved.
"Is that all?" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Is that all? We'll soon put that right. Keep your dog. I'll settle matters with your cousin."
He glanced back across the fields to where Larry was walking the cob to and fro.
But Clodagh's face expressed intense surprise.
"But you don't understand," she said. "Mick was the stake. 'Twas a fair race, and Larry won. Mick is—is Larry's now."
He laughed a little.