'It'll be the seventh. They might as well give over. They're only labouring to stay in the same place.'
'I want to see 'em come in,' said Hazel. They went out, but Abel waylaid them, and took Edward off to show him a queen bee in a box from Italy. Edward loathed bees in or out of boxes, but he was too kind-hearted to refuse. Abel was so unperceptive that he touched pathos.
Hazel found a place some distance down the course where she could look along the straight to the winning-post; she loved to hear them thunder past. She leaned over the rail and watched them come, still fatalistic, but gallant, bent on a dramatic finish, stooping and 'cutting' their horses. The first man was on her side of the course. She stared at him in amazed consternation as he came towards her. His strong blue eyes, caught by the fixity of her glance or by her bright hair, saw her, and became triumphant. He pulled the horse in sharply, and within a few yards of the winning-post wheeled and went back, amid the jeers and howls of the crowd, who thought he must be drunk.
'You've given me a long enough chase,' he said, leaning towards her.
'Where the devil do you live?'
'Oh, dunna stop! He's coming.'
'Who?'
'Mr. Marston, the minister.'
'What do I care if he's a dozen ministers?'
'But he'll be angered.'
'I'll make his nose bleed if he's got such cheek.'