“That is because there are so few Lady Clancartys,” replied Ormond smiling, and Betty swept him a courtesy.
“Benham’s won again,” remarked Savile, too chagrined to notice anything else.
“And so have I,” said Mr. Trevor, with a little smile; “’tis an ill wind that blows nobody good.”
Savile eyed him from head to foot; his quick ear had detected a peculiarity of voice and accent.
“Are you from Ireland, sir?” he asked insolently.
“Where gentlemen are bred,—yes, my lord,” replied Trevor, his gray eyes gleaming like steel.
Lady Betty stirred uneasily. “Whose horse was that which came in last?” she asked.
“Savile’s,” laughed Benham, “don’t you see his brow of thunder?”
“Hard luck, my boy,” remarked Lord Devonshire, smiling, “but there are many here who will have worse to-day.”
“Ay, and the king’s cough is worse,” remarked Ormond significantly.