"Richard is coming also; I have never been to the Derby, and I daresay we shall be a very pleasant party; I know I like it of all things. Here comes Richard--he sees me. Was my uncle David here?" "No." "I hardly thought he was, but I saw Grace Maubray, and I fancied he might have come with her," she said carelessly. "Yes, she was here; she came with Lady Tramway. They went away about half-an-hour ago." So Richard joined her, and they walked to the house together, Vivian Darnley accompanying them. "I think I saw you a little spooney to-day, Vivian, didn't I?" said Richard Arden, laughing. He remembered what Longcluse once said to him, about Vivian's _tendre_ for his sister, and did not choose that Alice should suspect it. "Grace Maubray is a very pretty girl." "She may be that, though it doesn't strike me," began Darnley. "Oh! come, I'm too old for that sort of disclaimer; and I don't see why you should be so modest about it. She is clever and pretty." "Yes, she is very pretty," said Alice. "I suppose she is, but you're quite mistaken if you really fancy I admire Miss Maubray. I _don't_, I give you my _honour_, I don't," said Vivian vehemently. Richard Arden laughed again, but prudently urged the point no more, intending to tell the story that evening as he and Alice drove together into town, in the way that best answered his purpose. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE DERBY. The morning of the Derby day dawned auspiciously. The weather-cocks, the sky, and every other prognostic portended a fine cloudless day, and many an eye peeped early from bed-room window to read these signs, rejoicing. "Ascot would have been more in _our_ way," said Lady May, glancing at Alice, when the time arrived for taking their places in the carriage. "But the time answered, and we shall see a great many people we know there. So you must not think I have led you into a very fast expedition." Richard Arden took the reins. The footmen were behind, in charge of hampers from Fortnum and Mason's, and inside, opposite to Alice, sat Lord Wynderbroke; and Lady May's _vis-à-vis_ was Vivian Darnley. Soon they had got into the double stream of carriages of all sorts. There are closed carriages with pairs or fours, gigs, hansom cabs fitted with gauze curtains, dog-carts, open carriages with hampers lashed to the foot-boards, dandy drags, bright and polished, with crests; vans, cabs, and indescribable contrivances. There are horses worth a hundred and fifty guineas a-piece, and there are others that look as if the knacker should have them. There are all sorts of raws, and sand-cracks, and broken knees. There are kickers and roarers, and bolters and jibbers, such a crush and medley in that densely packed double line, that jogs and crushes along you can hardly tell how.