"You have been losing again?"
"Yes. I was so lucky with my Goodwood book that I grew bold—determined upon a great coup at York, put every farthing I could scrape together upon Crofter, the second favourite for the Great Ebor. I had been assured that it was the safest thing in the world. I might back him with my wedding-ring, Sir George Varney said. And York has generally been lucky to me, you know. It is my own county, and I love every inch of it. The Knavesmire was the first racecourse I ever saw, the place where I first learned to love horses, and to understand them. My father used to tell me everything about the races. I was the only one of us who was really interested in his talk."
"I thought the money from Davis, and the money you won at Goodwood, cleared all your difficulties."
"Yes, for the moment. But this York business has made things worse than they were before. However, you need not disturb yourself about it. Varney has offered to lend me the money."
She said this slowly, with drooping eyelids, and a thoughtful air; but she stole a little look at Bothwell from beneath the long dark lashes, to see how he took her speech.
"You must not take a sixpence of his money—not a sixpence," said Bothwell sternly.
"No? That is exactly my idea. It would be very bad form for a woman in my position to borrow from Varney—who is—well, a man of the world. But I must have the money somehow. The bookmakers won't wait. They only give credit in my case because they know I dare not cheat them."
"Surely the bookmen do not know that you are their creditor?"
"They are not supposed to know. The bets are made in my brother's name—Otho's—who has been in Australia for the last two years. But I don't believe these men would trust Otho, even if he were in London."
"It is dreadful!" exclaimed Bothwell, deeply distressed. "You ought not to have entangled yourself again. What makes you do this thing, Valeria? It is worse than chloral, or any other form of feminine madness."