“I don’t feel the slightest doubt,” answered Skelton, the flush mounting higher and showing dully through his olive skin. “It is a pity that this young gentleman should have started the one subject that we cannot discuss. It is difficult to teach a boy tact--impossible, almost, for when they are tactful it is born with them.” This, delivered in Skelton’s graceful manner, left the impression upon the mind of Blair and his wife that Skelton had very artfully called their boy a lout. However, he then turned his attention to little Mary, the childish image of her mother. Mary answered his questions correctly and demurely, and presently startled them by asking when Mr. Lewis Pryor was coming over to give her a ride on his pony. The child had met him riding about the roads and at church, and they had struck up an acquaintance, with the result of this promise. But as Lewis had never been to Newington, and, in fact, had never been asked, this increased the prevailing discomfort. Skelton, though, with elaborate ease, promised to find out from Lewis and let her know. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Blair took any part in the discussion, and they altogether ignored Lewis’s existence. All the ingenuity in the world could not have devised anything more galling to Skelton. Then, Blair seemed not to be able to keep off the question of the races again, although no mention was made of the especial match between them. Elizabeth listened with an aching heart. What a trifle it was to Skelton, while to them it was the most tremendous event in the world. It might mean the turning of herself and Blair and her children out of house and home. But she gave no sign of this inward fear, speaking lightly, although she had a horrible feeling that Skelton knew how hollow their pretence was--that the money Blair had risked might have to be got by some occult means, for not another penny could be raised upon Newington. Presently Skelton rose and said good-by, Blair seeing him to the door and watching him as he stepped lightly into his curricle. Then Blair came back like a criminal to his wife. But Elizabeth had no reproaches to make. She was fluent enough when her feelings were not deeply touched, but under the influence of profound emotion she became perfectly silent. She was inapt at reproaches too; but Blair would cheerfully have preferred even the extraordinary wiggings that Mrs. Shapleigh gave her husband to the still and heart-breaking reproof of Elizabeth’s despairing, wordless look. He walked about the room for a few moments, while Elizabeth, with her work dropping from her listless hand, sat in fixed sadness. “By Jupiter, the horse _must_ win!” he cried excitedly, after a moment. “For God’s sake, Elizabeth, don’t look at me in that way!” Elizabeth made a desperate effort to rally.