She answered him slowly, subjecting him the while to a somewhat close examination. His face was more sunburnt than ever she had seen a man's, but there was a wonderful force and strength in his features, which seemed to have become refined instead of coarsened by the privations through which he had passed. 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. “So they tell me! I've been rather lucky haven't I, for a beginner? I found a good trainer, and I had second call on Cannon, who's riding him. If you care to back him for a trifle, I think you'll be all right, although the odds are nothing to speak of.” She was walking by his side now towards the quieter end of the paddock. “I hear you have been to Torquay,” he said, looking at her critically, “it seems to have agreed with you. You are looking well!” She returned his glance with slightly uplifted eyebrows, intending to convey by that and her silence a rebuke to his boldness. He was blandly unconscious, however, of her intent, being occupied just then in returning the greetings of passers-by. She bit her lip and looked straight ahead. “After all,” he said, “unless you are very keen on seeing Iris, I think we'd better give it up. There are too many people around her already.” “Just as you like,” she answered, “only it seems a shame that you shouldn't look over your own horse before the race if you want to. Would you like to try alone?” “Certainly not,” he answered. “I shall see plenty of her later. Are you fond of horses?” “Very.” “Go to many race-meetings?” “Whenever I get the chance!--I always come here.” “It is a great sight,” he said thoughtfully, looking around him. “Are you here just for the pleasure of it, or are you going to write about it?” She laughed.