"That I'm sure she is, Sam; bright, clever, witty, and not a bit of harm in her, I'll swear."

"Right you are, sir. Sleep here to-night, sir?"

"Of course. I wired down."

"I didn't know, sir. Then, of course, it's booked. Dine too, sir?"

"Can't say, Sam. I hope I shall be engaged. If I'm not I shall throw myself on Miss Simpkins's mercy."

"You'll be all right, sir. I've laid in plenty o' grub."

The doctor nodded, and as the landlord went on studying his betting-book he unstrapped and took out his race-gla.s.s, wiped the lenses thoughtfully, took a look through, after careful focussing, and put it back in the case.

"Bless her!" he said to himself. "She's the dearest little witch that ever breathed. She ought to have been here by now. They haven't seen her at the paddock, and I can't get a peep at La Sylphide. I believe they haven't brought her up yet. Well, no wonder, considering her temper. Josh Rowle knows what he's about."

He took out his gla.s.s again, focussed it, and had a good look through it at the common, alive with horse, foot and artillery, in the shape of carriages laden with ammunition, loaded bottles ready to go off included.

"Does she do it to lead me on?" thought the doctor. "I wish I wasn't such a coward. But, there, if the Sylph wins I shall feel independent, and can go at her without thinking I'm a money-hunter. Then, if sh.e.l.l ask me to dinner, which I think she will, the wine will be in and the wit may be out, but I'll pop as well as her champagne, and know the worst. By Jove!"

He closed his gla.s.s suddenly, for, brightly and fashionably dressed, Lady Tilborough pa.s.sed close to the window and stopped his view of the common. The next minute she was entering the hall.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE FLOATING CLOUD.

"Oh, there you are, Simpkins! You must make room for my carriage.

Order them to give my coachman a separate stable. Lock up. Ah, Dr Granton, I thought you'd come and see my mare win."

"I came down on purpose to see you, Lady Tilborough," was the reply, given with a warm pressure of the hand. "But, of course, I am longing to see your mare carry all before her."

"Thanks, doctor, thanks," said the lady, with a meaning smile which made the doctor thrill. "Yes, I mean to win. There are some nice people staying at the Court. I'll introduce you on the stand, if I have time.

But you'll come over afterwards and dine?"

"Oh, thank you, yes," cried the doctor, flushing with pleasure. "So good of you. Can I do anything? Let me see that your horses are properly put up."

"Oh, no, no, no, the coachman will see to that, I could not think of troubling you."

"Trouble?" said the doctor, with what was intended for an intense gaze full of meaning. "Don't talk of trouble, Lady Tilborough, when you know."

"Yes, I know that I am full of anxiety about my mare, and in no humour for listening to nonsense, so hold your tongue. Oh, here's that dreadful man again."

For the visitor to the Denes of that morning, minus his little white mongrel, but flourishing his pack of race-cards, suddenly appeared at the window with: "Success to your ladyship, and may yer win every race!

You'll buy a few c'rect cards of Dandy Dinny, the only original purveyor of--"

"Get out, you scoundrel!" cried the doctor, fiercely.

"Cert'ny, my n.o.ble doctor; but you'll buy a c'rect card of--"

He did not finish, for the doctor threw a coin quickly out of the window, and the wretched-looking lout rushed to field it, before he was outpaced.

"Poor wretch!" said Lady Tilborough. "But that was very nice of you.

But there, don't follow me--now."

She walked off quickly, and the doctor drew a quick breath.

"Bless her! She never spoke to me like that before."

He turned, full of elation, to find the landlord, with his pencil between his lips, watching him keenly.

"I shan't dine here, Simpkins," he said.

"Very good, sir. So I heered."

"Splendid day for the race."

"Yes, sir, and the ground's lovely. Made good book, sir?"

"Oh, yes, capital."

"Glad to see her ladyship bears it so well."

"Bears it? Oh, she never gives way to excitement. She'd be cool, even if she felt she would lose."

"Oh, yes, sir; I know well enough what spirit she has."

"Rather a big field, though, Sam."

"Yes, sir; but there's only one as can stay."

"Exactly. La Sylphide, of course. By George! I'll take the liberty of making her namesake a present."

"Very good of you, sir, but she's out of it."

"What?"

"Jim Crow's the horse, sir. First favourite now."

"Bah!" cried the doctor.

"What! Ain't you heard, sir?"

"Heard! Heard what?"

"Lady Tilborough's mare won't run."

"You don't mean it?" cried the doctor, turning pale.