Tony was waiting for him when he reached their meeting-place. She wore a plain dark coat and skirt, but she had put on a wide hat, with a wreath of crimson leaves round it, and instead of plaiting her hair, she let it stream over her shoulders, thick and sleek, without a curl. In her hand she clutched a little purse.
"I'm going to bet on a horse," she said in an awe-struck voice.
"Which horse?"
"I don't know. I'll see when I get there."
"I'll try and find something pretty safe for you, and I'll have my money on it too."
"Isn't it exciting!" whispered Tony. "What should I do if I met Mrs. Arkwright or any of the mistresses!"
Mrs. Arkwright and the mistresses were not the people Furlonger dreaded to meet.
He and Tony swung gaily along the cinder-track leading to the course. It was deserted, except for a little knot at the starting gate. The girl shrank rather close to him as they came into the crowd. The shouting made her nervous and flustered—that people should make such a noise over a shady thing like betting seemed to her extraordinary. She touched Nigel's elbow, and showed him her purse, now open, and containing half-a-crown.
"Which is the best horse?"