‘Oh, you’ll be proficient in no time!’ exclaimed Lady Bowmant. ‘Isn’t it delightful? I adore riding and driving, and everything connected with horses. Don’t I, Sir Archibald?’ ‘You do, my dear,’ said the jolly baronet. ‘That is, if adoring means riding them to death, and driving over half my tenantry,’ and he roared as if his wife’s feats of skill were the funniest things in the world. ‘Now, don’t tell tales out of school, Sir Archibald,’ cried the lady. ‘You know when I hunted last season that there wasn’t a woman in the field who could keep anywhere near me. And didn’t I carry off three brushes? And didn’t the master of the fox-hounds say I was the pluckiest horsewoman he had ever seen?’ ‘Oh, yes, Dolly; no one denies your pluck, my dear. Only I wish you didn’t drive your tandem over the children so often. The pounds I had to pay last year for mending babies and recouping the mothers passes belief.’ ‘Don’t you believe him, Lady Ilfracombe,’ said his wife with a saucy nod. ‘The old man’s getting in his second dotage and doesn’t know half he says.’ At this fresh sally Sir Archibald roared again until he nearly choked himself over his lobster salad and champagne. The races were now beginning in good earnest, but Nora did not take half so much interest in them as she did in the lively conversation of her new acquaintance, who out-talked the duchess and Lady Moberly and all the other ladies put together. She was very keen on the racing though, and explained a great deal to Nora which she could not have understood without her. The gentlemen of the party had left the drag as soon as the work of the day began, and found their way to the betting-ring. ‘Now, I hope my old man won’t pop too much on Caliban!’ exclaimed Lady Bowmant a little anxiously. ‘For it looks to me as if he had been a bit overtrained. I heard Jack recommending him to put a monkey on him; but though Jack knows a thing or two I don’t always take his advice in racing matters. I expect its six for himself and half-a-dozen for his friends like most of them, eh?’ ‘I know so little of these things,’ replied Lady Ilfracombe. ‘Is the Derby a great race for betting on?’ The other turned and looked at her with surprise. ‘Is the Derby a race for betting on?’ she repeated. ‘My dear Lady Ilfracombe, men lose fortunes over it. They’re mad, I tell them, perfectly mad. No one likes spending money more than I do; but to throw it away by the thousand! Why, it spells ruin for the majority, that’s all.’ ‘I hope Ilfracombe will not be reckless,’ said Nora anxiously. ‘I sometimes think he is a little disposed to be so over cards and those sorts of games.’ ‘If he’s with Jack Portland, he’s bound to “go the pace,”’ returned Lady Bowmant, laughing. ‘Upon my word, I sometimes think that man’s mad. Have you ever seen him at baccarat, Lady Ilfracombe?’ ‘Who? What?’ said Nora, who was vainly trying to follow her husband’s movements. ‘Mr Portland? No.’