‘Don’t you see? If you’re not under eleven stone, you can ride him. We can’t let any one in without an invitation received before the race. You had one, I know.’
‘Oh yes, I believe so; but I never thought of riding.’
‘Well, but you can ride, of course. Now, if you’re the proper weight, you might ride Mendicant for Mr. Greyford; it would do him a service, and make the race better fun. Besides, all the girls would like to see you ride, I know.’
‘Would you take any interest in my winning, Miss Rockley? Say the word, and I will do that or anything else in the wide world.’
‘Oh, I daresay; just as if you cared what I thought. Now there’s Vera Fane, that papa introduced you to, she would be charmed to see you win it. Oh, I know——’
‘But yourself? Only say the word.’
‘Then do ride—there, don’t look at me like that, or you’ll have mamma thinking I’m ill and knocked up with excitement; and if she begins to say I look pale, papa’s capable of carrying me off before the ball’s over.’
Wilfred, thus adjured, veiled the ardent fire of his glances, and then and there pledged himself to ride Mr. Greyford’s Mendicant for the Ladies’ Bag, and to win, if Miss Rockley would only back him, which she promised to do.
It was surprising how much more interest Wilfred took in the coming contest, now that he was about to guide one of the chariot racers, to disperse pulverem Olympicum in his own person. He danced perseveringly with all the partners suggested to him, covering himself with glory in the eyes of Mr. Rockley. He had another and yet another dance with Miss Fane, being much gratified at the interest she expressed concerning the coming race. He made the acquaintance, too, of Mr. Greyford.
‘Re Mendicant, he’s a lazy beggar,’ said that gentleman frankly, ‘but well-bred, and can come at the finish if he likes. I had given up the idea of starting him for want of a jock, but I shall be happy if you will ride him for me. We’ll go halves in this wonderful bag if Mendicant pulls it off.’