Brack attracted attention; he was a strange bird in the midst of this gayly plumaged crowd, but he was quite at home, unaware he was a subject of observation.
At last Picton Woodridge saw him and came up.
"Well, Brack, I am glad you came," he said as he shook hands. "I hope Rose looked after you."
"He did very well. He's not a jovial mate, a trifle stuck up and so on, gives himself airs; expect he's considered a decent sort in his own circle—in the servants' hall," said Brack.
Picton caught sight of Rose's face and burst out laughing.
"Speaks his mind, eh, Rose?" he said. "You may leave us."
"He's a rum 'un," said Brack. "What is he?"
"My butler; I thought I had better send him for you in case you were undecided whether to come. I am glad you are here; and, Brack, I have a caution to give you. No one knows my brother, he is so changed. If you recognize him, say nothing—it would be dangerous."
"I'll be dumb, never fear," said Brack. "I thank you for giving me this treat; it's a long time since I saw t'Leger run. Your man tells me Tearaway will win."
"I feel certain of it. You had better put a little on her at twenty to one," said Picton.