‘Very catching, indeed,’ assented Mr. Churbett. ‘Is that Miss Fane on the brown horse next to Mrs. Snowden? Ladylike-looking girl, isn’t she? Suppose we go and get a bet out of her?’
Following up this novel idea they rode over to the little group, where Mr. Churbett was assailed with all sorts of compliments and inquiries about the state and prospects of Grey Surrey.
‘I think the articles should have been selected with reference to your complexion, Mr. Churbett,’ said Mrs. Snowden; ‘you seem so certain of carrying it off. I know blue is your favourite colour, and I made my smoking-cap and slippers of the last fashionable shade on purpose.’
‘Always considerate, Mrs. Snowden,’ said the object of this compliment, as a smile became general at this allusion to Fred’s auburn-tinted hair. ‘You must have been thinking of Snowden, who resembles me in that way, and the very early days when you used to work slippers for him.’
‘Really I forget whether I ever did much in that line for Snowden. It must have been centuries ago.’
‘Oh, but I don’t agree with that at all,’ said the fair Christabel. ‘Suppose some one with dark hair wins it, then he would have to go about with all sorts of unbecoming trash. Let every one be guided by their own taste.’
‘I daresay a few trifles that will look well on Bob Clarke will be found in the bag,’ said Hamilton. ‘I heard something about a gorgeous crimson and gold smoking-cap. I wonder if anybody has been studying my complexion? If Effingham wins, you will all be thrown out.’
‘Then you are going to ride, Mr. Effingham?’ said the fair Christabel, with a smile so irresistible that it fully repaid him for his troubles and misgivings. ‘I am sure I hope you will win, though I’m afraid, between Grey Surrey, No Mamma, and Bolivar, you haven’t a good chance.’
‘I wouldn’t be too certain about that,’ said Miss Fane, who had recognised Wilfred with a pleasant, cordial greeting, and whom he thought looking uncommonly well in her habit, and indisputably well mounted. ‘Don’t be alarmed by these great reputations. A little bird told me about Mendicant, and I’ll take the odds (in gloves), which are eight to one, I believe, that he’s first or second.’
This daring proposal brought rejoinders and wagers upon the head of the fair turfite, who quietly accepting a few of the latter, declared that her book was full, but was not to be dislodged from her position.