Mr. and Mrs. Blair were still close to the Shapleighs, and Skelton was standing between them and the carriage. He glanced towards Sylvia and saw the troubled look in her eyes. “Are you losing faith in your young admirer?” asked Skelton, smiling, and moving a step towards the carriage. “No,” answered Sylvia, “but--but--why did I ever let Mr. Blair have Alabaster! Perhaps I have done him the greatest injury of his whole life.” “No, you have not,” replied Skelton, in his musical, penetrating voice, which Blair, whose attention was abnormal that day, could hear distinctly; “you have probably done that which will cure Mr. Blair of racing the entire rest of his life.” Blair heard the reply and surmised the question. He smiled insultingly at Skelton, who, however, possessed in perfection the power to appear unconcerned when he wished it. The two horses were now at the post, and the starter was making his way towards his place. There was an intense, suppressed excitement following the cheering that kept the whole crowd silent. Nearly everybody present had something on one horse or the other; and then, they all knew that it was more than a match between Jaybird and Alabaster--it was a life-and-death contest between Blair and Skelton. But then the starter was in place and was trying to get the horses off. Skelton longed to call Lewis to the fence and give him a few last words of advice, but as Blair did not speak to Hilary he could not bring himself to show less want of confidence in Lewis. Hilary had the inside place. There was great difficulty in starting the horses, owing to Alabaster’s ill humour, and they were turned back half a dozen times. Each time Elizabeth’s heart grew fainter. Alabaster was becoming more wildly excited, and the bright gleam of the bit, as he champed it, throwing his head about fiercely, could plainly be seen. He had a way of getting the bit between his teeth, when he would stop short in his course and indulge in every wickedness known to horseflesh. If he ever began those performances after the flag fell he was gone. The Blairs watched, in the dazzling sunlight, Hilary stroking the horse’s neck, saying encouraging words and trying to keep him down. At last, when they were turned back for the fourth time, Alabaster ducked his head, and, raising his forefoot, brought it down with a crash on the rickety fence that separated the track from the infield. Elizabeth trembled visibly at that, and Blair ground his teeth. That pawing performance was always the beginning of the horse’s most violent tantrums. Jaybird, who was well bred as well as thoroughbred, was in agreeable contrast to Alabaster. He was perfectly manageable, although eager, and showed not the slightest temper or nervousness.