It was a silk riding jacket, in the scarlet and white racing
colours of the Leroys, and their coat of arms, worked in silver, upon
the breast.
"For the Grand National," said Lady Constance, as she refolded the
jacket.
"You worked it yourself?" questioned the old man abruptly.
"Yes," she replied, blushing again. Then, as he was silent for some
minutes, she said almost timidly: "You do not mind, uncle, do you?"
He started. "Mind! Good Heavens, child, why should I? You know the wish
of my heart only too well. What better favour could he wear than yours?
As far as I am concerned, you were plighted in your cradles. Leroy and
Tremaine are no unequal match. No--no--my dear, make his jacket, and win
his heart--if you can!"
Some few hours later, panting and throbbing, the Daimler motor drew up
in the Castle courtyard--Adrien and his friends had arrived for the
great steeplechase.
Attracted by the sound of the barking dogs, who apparently disliked the
unaccustomed monster--Lord Barminster himself invariably using
horses--Lady Constance stepped from her room on to the balcony which
looked down upon the courtyard beneath.
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