I looked, and there, actually, was Walter Hammond settling himself in a seat at my side. A gentleman on the other side of him leant forward and said:
“I don’t know if you’re aware that you’ve trodden on my hat, sir.”
Mr Hammond’s manner did not betray the mental disturbance which his reply suggested.
“Frightfully sorry! Delighted to provide you with another, sir!”
I was lost in amazement as to how I had come to be where I was; above all, how he had come to be there too. Where were the four? How was it that they had calmly acquiesced in my being whipped off from underneath their very noses? Where was the brown man, and everything? Some observations from Mr Hammond threw a little light upon the matter, but not much.
“Very neatly done—the riding did it—bad starters—left them at the post—romped in before they knew we’d begun to make the running.”
“Where,” I inquired, “are the others? And how is it that, after what I have just now been saying, I find myself here?”
“Question of jockeyship, Miss Norah. Good seat in the saddle—quick hands—made up my mind you and I should be snug together.”
“I wish to understand,” I began.
“Will you pardon my pointing out to you, madam, that a lady is singing on the stage?”