"Please don't. I've enjoyed myself awfully, and it's made the race ever so much more exciting, having some money on it."
"All right!" had been sung out from the weighing-ground, and the crowd was either pressing round the bookies, or dispersing along the course.
"We'd better go, I think," said Nigel, "you mustn't be late home."
"It's been perfectly ripping," and Tony suddenly slipped her warm gloved hand into his. "It was so kind of you to take me."
"But I made you back an outsider."
"Oh, never mind about it—please don't."
She gave his hand a little squeeze as she spoke, and suddenly, over him once again passed that thrill of great simplicity which he had experienced first at Brambletye. He became dumb—quite dumb and simple, with infinite rest in his heart.
They turned to leave, jostling their way through the crowd towards the cinder-track. Soon the clamour and scramble were far behind, and they found the little footpath that ran through the fields near Goatsluck Farm.
"Which way are we going home?" asked Tony.
"We'll have tea before we go home. Will you come with me and have tea in a cottage?"