"May! she should be a cousin of mine," said good Lady May, firing off her little pun, which was received very kindly by her audience. "Ha, ha! I did not think of that; she should certainly be the most popular name on the card," said Lord Wynderbroke. "I hope I have not made a great mistake, Miss Arden, in betting against so--so auspicious a name." "I sha'n't let you off, though. I'm told I'm very likely to win--isn't it so?" she asked Vivian. "Yes, the odds are in favour of May Queen now; you might make a capital hedge." "You don't know what a hedge is, I daresay, Miss Arden; ladies don't always quite understand our turf language," said Lord Wynderbroke, with a consideration which he hoped that very forward young man, on whom he fancied Miss Arden looked good-naturedly, felt as he ought. "It is called a hedge, by betting men, when----" and he expounded the meaning of the term. The road had now become more free, as they approached the course, and Dick Arden took advantage of the circumstance to pass the omnibuses, and other lumbering vehicles, which he soon left far behind. The grand stand now rose in view--and now they were on the course. The first race had not yet come off, and young Arden found a good place among the triple line of carriages. Off go the horses! Miss Arden is assisted to a cushion on the roof; Lord Wynderbroke and Vivian take places beside her. The sun is growing rather hot, and the parasol is up. Good-natured Lady May is a little too stout for climbing, but won't hear of anyone's staying to keep her company. Perhaps when Richard Arden, who is taking a walk by the ropes, and wants to see the horses which are showing, returns, she may have a little talk with him at the window. In the meantime, all the curious groups of figures, and a hundred more, which Lord Wynderbroke promised--the monotonous challenges of the fellows with games of all sorts, the whine of the beggar for a little penny, the guitarring, singing, barrel-organing, and the gipsy inviting Miss Arden to try her lucky sixpence--all make a curious and merry Babel about her. CHAPTER XXXIV. A SHARP COLLOQUY. On foot, near the weighing stand, is a tall, powerful, and clumsy fellow, got up gaudily--a fellow with a lowering red face, in loud good-humour, very ill-looking. He is now grinning and chuckling with his hands in his pockets, and talking with a little Hebrew, young, sable-haired, with the sallow tint, great black eyes, and fleshy nose that characterise his race. A singularly sullen mouth aids the effect of his vivid eyes, in making this young Jew's face ominous. "Young Dick Harden's 'ere," said Mr. Levi. "Eh? is he?" said the big man with the red face and pimples, the green cut-away coat, gilt buttons, purple neck-tie, yellow waistcoat, white cord tights, and top boots. "Walking down there," said Levi, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. "I shaw him shpeak to a fellow in chocolate and gold livery."