"I shouldn't," said Gwendoline, with decision. "I never agree with you, Reggie, except when you tell me I'm beautiful."
Tony raised his hand.
"Don't quarrel, children," he said, "until after the race is over. I shall break down if you do."
"Here they come!" cried Reggie, as the small group of men clustered round the entrance to the paddock suddenly scattered to right and left. "Look out for Little Eva."
A handsome chestnut, his coat gleaming like new bronze in the mellow afternoon sunlight, was the first to appear. He came out sideways, prancing and shaking his head, and then, twisting round, galloped up past the stands, sending the earth flying beneath his heels.
"That's Colchester, number twelve on the menu," said Tony. "He's the only one I'm afraid of."
"Let's hope he'll break his neck," said Reggie piously. "Here are the others."
One after another the fifteen runners cantered down the course, being greeted with successive cheers that swelled or sunk according to their position in the betting. The loudest welcome of all was reserved for the last, a beautiful, shapely black, carrying the famous Rothschild colours.
Tony moistened his lips. "There she goes," he said quietly. "Pretty mare, isn't she?"
No one answered; only Musette was looking at him. The others were gazing down the course after the horses.