‘But you don’t know anything about it,’ replied Lady Blanche. ‘The roughs who frequent the Derby course make no difference between an earl and anybody else. They don’t know one when they see him, and the awful people you will see on the race-course, gipsies--and nigger minstrels, and low creatures of all sorts.’ ‘Have you ever been there yourself?’ inquired Nora. ‘I should hope not, indeed. I would not think of such a thing. It is no place for ladies. I can’t imagine what Ilfracombe can be thinking of to let you go.’ ‘Well, I suppose he knows better than either of us, Blanche, and it was his own proposal. We are going down--a large party on our drag. Lady Moberly and the Duchess of Downshire are going with us, so I shall offend the proprieties in good company.’ ‘Oh, if the duchess is going with you, it makes a difference of course. No one has ever said a word against the duchess, and she is at least fifty, so she will give a tone to the whole affair and be a sort of chaperon for you; for you see, Nora, though you _are_ a countess, you are rather young.’ ‘I know that,’ retorted Nora; ‘but I’m getting the better of it every day.’ ‘Well, you needn’t be flippant, my dear,’ replied her sister-in-law with a sniff. ‘Rank has its obligations, though you do not appear to think so. There might have been some excuse for your not knowing it before your marriage, but there is none now.’ ‘No, I suppose not. All the same I’m going to the Derby this year, if I never go again.’ And off ran Nora to join her husband. The Derby day was for her a complete success. She was dressed becomingly--was in good health and spirits, and in the humour to enjoy all she saw and heard. Lord Ilfracombe’s drag, with its team of perfectly-matched chesnuts, was one of the handsomest in the Four-in-hand Club, and had always attracted particular attention when he turned out for the annual Park display. Their party consisted of the Duchess of Downshire, Lord and Lady Moberly, Miss Chetwynd, one of that season’s beauties, and several bachelors, amongst whom was Mr Jack Portland--the only drawback to Nora’s enjoyment. But she was seated behind her husband and the duchess, who occupied the box seat, and he was at the back of the coach, so that during the journey they did not exchange a word with one another. As soon as they arrived on the race-course, and the horses had been taken out of the shafts, the servants spread their luncheon, and they began to have a merry time of it. Presently Jack Portland’s voice was heard exclaiming, as he looked at someone through his field-glass,-- ‘By George! if that isn’t Sir Archibald Bowmant, my Usk friend, and his wife. I told you, Ilfracombe, didn’t I, that I’m going to spend a few weeks with them next month. They’re the best fellows in the world. Awful fun! and don’t the old boy know a card when he sees it.’