It had been a great race upon a brilliant day of summer. Alban had accompanied her to the enclosure and feasted his eyes upon that rainbow scene, so amazing in its beauty, so bewildering in its glow of color that it stood, to his untrained imagination, for the whole glory of the world. Of the horses or their meaning he knew nothing at all. This picture of radiant women, laughing, feasting, flirting at the heart of a natural forest; the vast concourse of spectators—the thousand hues of color flashing in the sunshine, the stands, the music, the royal procession, the superbly caparisoned horses, the State carriages—what a spectacle it was, how far surpassing all that he had been led to expect of Money and its kingdom. Let Anna move excitedly amid the throng, laughing with this man, changing wit with another—he was content just to watch the people, to reflect upon their happy lives, it may be to ask himself what justification they had when the children were wanting bread and the great hosts of the destitute lay encamped beyond the pale. Such philosophy, to be sure, had but a short shrift on such a day. The intoxication of the scene quickly ran hot in his veins and he surrendered to it willingly. These were hours to live, precious every one of them—and who would not worship the gold which brought them, who would not turn to it as to the lodestar of desire?
And then the race! Anna had talked of nothing else since they set out in the motor to drive over to the course. Her anger against Willy Forrest appeared to be forgotten for the time being—he, on his part, eying Alban askance, but making no open complaint against him, met her in the paddock and repeated his assurances that Lodestar could not lose.
"They run him down to evens, Anna," he said, "and precious lucky we were to get the price we did. There'll be some howls to-night, but what's that to us? Are we a philanthropic society, do we live to endow the multitude? Not much, by no means, oh dear, no. We live to make an honest bit—and we'll make it to-day if ever we did. You go easy and don't butt in. I've laid all that can be got at the price and the rest's best in your pocket. You'll want a bit for the other races—eh, what? You didn't come here to knit stockings, now did you, Anna?"
She laughed with him and returned to see the race. Her excitement gave her a superb color, heightened her natural beauty and turned many admiring eyes upon her. To Alban she whispered that she was going to make a fortune, and he watched her curiously, almost afraid for himself and for her. When the great thrill passed over the stands and "they're off" echoed almost as a sound of distant thunder, he crept closer to her as though to share the excitement of which she was mistress. The specks upon the green were nothing to him—those dots of color moving swiftly across the scene, how odd to think that they might bring riches or beggary in their train! This he knew to be the stern fact, and when men began to shout hoarsely, to press together and crane their necks, when that very torrent of sound which named the distance arose, he looked again at Anna and saw that she was smiling. "She has won," he said, "she will be happy to-night."
The horses passed the post in a cluster. Alban, unaccustomed to the objects of a race-course, had not an eye so well trained that he could readily distinguish the colors or locate with certainty the position of the "pink—green sleeves—white cap"—the racing jacket of "Count Donato," as Anna was known to the Jockey Club. He could make out nothing more than a kaleidoscope of color changing swiftly upon a verdant arena, this and an unbroken line of people stretching away to the very confines of the woodlands and a rampart wall of stands and boxes and tents. For him there were no niceties of effort and of counter-effort. The jockeys appeared to be so many little monkeys clinging to the necks of wild chargers who rolled in their distress as though to shake off the imps tormenting them. The roar of voices affrighted him—he could not understand that lust of gain which provoked the mad outcry, the sudden forgetfulness of self and dignity and environment, the absolute surrender to the desire of victory. Nor was the succeeding silence less mysterious. It came as the hush in an interval of tempests. The crowd drew back from the railings and moved about as quietly as though nothing of any consequence had happened. Anna herself, smiling still, stood just where she was; but her back was now toward the winning-post and she seemed to have forgotten its existence.
"Do you know," she said very slowly, "my horse has lost."
"What does that mean?" Alban asked with real earnestness.
She laughed again, looking about her a little wildly as though to read something of the story upon other faces.
"What does it mean—oh, lots of things. I wonder if we could get a cup of tea, Alban—I think I should like one."