"And at such a price!" growled Mr. Wilmot. "Upon my word, I am ashamed of myself when I think that I ever allowed myself to be induced to back any horse at such a figure."
Mr. Major was standing by Miss Davidson. His eyes, which rested on her, were eloquent with many things. Always good-looking, just then he was even curiously handsome.
"Ballet Girl will win; I am sure of it. Then—then I shall never bet again."
"Never?"
"Never. I don't think I ever bet before. I never shall again."
"Your luck has been fabulous—really quite incredible. If I had been you I should have been content with what I'd won. To risk it all seems—seems dreadful."
"Why? You would be prepared to bet that two and two make four a thousand times in succession."
"But that is different."
"Not at all. Just as certainly as you know that two and two make four, I know that Ballet Girl will win. I shall have made my fortune. I shall have only one thing left to win. Only one!"
Someone said they were getting ready to start. All eyes were turned towards the course. Mr. Wilmot's glasses again came into play.
"Isn't that Tragedy Queen who won't stand still? Up go her heels! Now there's Chappie joining her!"
Mr. Major, under cover of the gathering excitement, half whispered to Miss Davidson—
"I shall have only one thing left to win."
