is not impossible that his forgetfulness was overlooked. "Bar One's won!" He turned on Mr. Major. "Bar One has won!"
There was a hubbub of many voices, a wild rush of people on to the course, where Ballet Girl lay motionless. Her last race was run. The flush had faded from Mr. Major's cheeks, the light from his eyes.
"I have lost!—lost!— lost it all!" He turned to Miss Davidson. "You—you won't let it make any difference?"
"Make any difference?"
"I did it all for you. I—I did not like to come to you with empty hands."
"Mr. Major! What do you mean?"
"Although I loved you so, I did not like to think that you were rich and I was poor. If I had won I should have given it all to you—it would have been for you that it was won."
The lady turned away. It almost seemed that this remarkable young gentleman was making a declaration of affection, in public, on the roof of a drag, right before the eyes—the ears!—of a number of amazed and bewildered strangers.
"You—you won't let it make any difference because—because I have lost."
The lady favoured him with a front view. Her cheeks were a flaming red; but, in spite of it, she was the more self-possessed of the two.
"I think, Mr. Major, that excitement has turned your brain. It is rather a singular place in which to volunteer such a statement, but I don't know if you are aware that I am engaged to be married to Mr. Philip Cumberland?"
