"I wish I knew."
"May I look at the card?"
He gave it to her. She seemed puzzled.
"How can I tell which horse to bet on?"
A man beside them laughed, and Nigel flushed indignantly.
"You can't tell much by the card; I'll go over to the ring in a moment, and find out what the odds are. But as you don't want to put on more than half-a-crown, I'd keep it till the big race, if I were you."
"Which is the big race?"
"The Lingfield Cup. It's the last—but we'll enjoy the others, even though we've got nothing on 'em."
They enjoyed them thoroughly. Hanging over the rail, their shouts were just as noisy and as desperate as if they had all their possessions at stake. Tony was thrilled to the depths—the clamour and excitement in the betting ring, the odd, disreputable people all round her, surreptitiously exchanging shillings and horses' names—the clanging bell, the shout of "They're off!" the flash of opera-glasses, the mad rush by, the cheers for the winner ... all plunged her into an orgy of excitement. She felt subtly wicked and daring, and also, when Nigel began to explain the technicalities of racing, infinitely worldly-wise. What would the girls at school say when they found out she knew the meaning of "Ten to one, bar one," or "Money on both ways"? She wrote such phrases down in her "nature note-book," which she carried about with her to record botanical discoveries, birds seen, sunsets, and equally blameless doings.