Allis breathed more freely when he had gone. Somehow his presence had oppressed her; perhaps it was the fierce stephanotis that came in clouds from the lady behind that smothered her senses. Crane had said nothing—just an ordinary compliment. Like an inspiration it came to the girl what had affected her so disagreeably in Crane—it was his eyes. They were hard, cold, glittering gray eyes, looking out from between partly closed eyelids. Allis could see them still. The lower lids cut straight across; it was as though the eyes were peeping at her over a stone wall.
“What did I tell you about Crusader?” Alan said, triumphantly. “There's another.”
“Alan!”
“I wondered why Mr. Crane was so deuced friendly; but there's nothing to get cross about, girl, he's a fine old chap, and got lots of wealth.”
He leaned forward till he was close to his sister's ear, and added, in a whisper, “Her ladyship behind, Belle Langdon, is trying to hook him. Phew!—but she's loud. But I'm off—I'm going to see what the row is about.”
IV
When John Porter left the stand, the horses had just cantered back to weigh in. The jockeys, one after another, with upraised whip, had saluted the Judge, received his nod to dismount, pulled the saddles from their steeds, and, in Indian file, were passing over the scales. As Lucretia was led away, Porter turned into the paddock. He saw that Langdon was waiting for him.
“Well, he won, just as I said he would,” declared the latter; “you've got a good horse cheap. You'd ought to've had a bet down on him, an' won him out.”
“He won,” answered Porter, looking straight into the other's shifty eyes, “but he's a long way from being a good horse—no dope horse is a good horse.”