His hand, as she
had felt, was as hard as iron, and it was not without reluctance
that she felt compelled to take note of his correct attire and easy
bearing. After all he must be possessed of a wonderful measure of
adaptability.
"You have become famous," she said. "Do you know that you are
going to be made a lion?"
"I suppose the papers have been talking a lot of rot," he answered
bluntly. "I've had a fairly rough time, and I'm glad to tell you
this, Miss Wendermott - I don't believe I'd ever have succeeded but
for your nephew Fred. He's the pluckiest boy I ever knew."
"I am very pleased to hear it," she answered. "He's a dear boy!"
"He's a brick," Trent answered. "We've been in some queer scrapes
together - I've lots of messages for you! By the by, are you alone?"
"For the moment," she answered; "Mr. Davenant left me as you came
up. I'm with my cousin, Lady Tresham. She's on the lawn somewhere."
He looked down the paddock and back to her.
"Walk with me a little way," he said, "and I will show you Iris
before she starts."
"You!" she exclaimed.
He pointed to the card. It was surely an accident that she had not
noticed it before. Mr. Trent's Iris was amongst the entries for the
Gold Cup.
"Why, Iris is the favourite!"
He nodded.
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