The man booked the bet, bowed to Vermont, as to an utter stranger, and
the two gentlemen passed to the weighing-seat. Peacock had already gone
to don his riding-clothes, and without waiting to see him again, Adrien
and his companion returned to the grand stand. Here Leroy stopped to
speak to Lady Merivale, who, with her sister, the Marchioness of Caine,
had motored down from London to witness the race.
The marchioness was a lady with a passion for bridge, and an intense
admiration for Adrien Leroy.
"You are quite sure your horse, that pretty creature with the long neck,
is going to win?" she inquired, as he stood by her chair.
Her sister, Lady Merivale, looked up mockingly.
"Of course he's going to win, Alicia. Did not Lady Constance Tremaine
say so? Surely _she_ ought to know!"
Leroy did not appear to notice the jealous sarcasm of this speech.
"I hope he will win," he said gravely. "Nothing is certain in this
world, and race-horses are said to be as fickle as your sex, dear lady."
This was a mild thrust at Lady Merivale; but she only smiled sweetly in
response. "Still, I think you may safely bet on the 'King'; he's in fine
form.
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