"I like Cynthia," he said to himself, "though I shall be in a deuce of a mess if I meet her anywhere after this piece of masquerading. Not much chance of that, I expect, seeing that Dad and I go to Scotland early in July. But what a bore to tumble across Jimmy's mater! I hope it is not a case of 'like mother like son,' because Jimmy is the limit." A strange roar, gathering force and volume each instant, rose from a hundred thousand throats. Soon the shout became insistent, and Cynthia Vanrenen yielded to its magnetism. "Eyot wins!" she cried delightedly. "Yes, none of them can catch him now. Go on, jockey--don't look round! Oh, if I were your master I'd give you such a talking to. Ah-h-h! We've won, Mrs. Devar--we've won! Just think of it!" "How much, I wonder?" Mrs. Devar, though excited, had the calculating habit. "Five pounds each," said Medenham, who had approached unnoticed during the tumult. Cynthia's eyes sparkled. "Five pounds! Why, I heard some betting person over there offering only three to one." It was a task beyond his powers to curb an unruly tongue in the presence of this emancipated schoolgirl. He met her ebullient mood halfway. "I have evidently beaten the market--that is, if I get the money. Horrible thought! I may be welshed!" He strode back rapidly to the bookmaker's stand. "What do you think of our chauffeur now?" cried Cynthia radiantly, for the winning of those few sovereigns was a real joy to her, and the shadow of the welsher had no terrors, since she did not know what Medenham meant. "He improves on acquaintance," admitted Mrs. Devar, thawing a little under the influence of a successful tip. He soon returned, and handed them six sovereigns apiece. "My man paid up like a Briton," he said cheerfully. "I have no reliable information as to the next race, so what do you ladies say if we lunch quietly before we attack the ring for the Derby?" There was an awkward pause. The air of Epsom Downs is stimulating, especially after one has found the winner of the first race. "We have not brought anything to eat," admitted Cynthia ruefully. "We ordered some sandwiches before leaving the hotel, and we mean to stop for tea at some old-world hotel in Reigate which Mrs. Devar recommends." "Unfortunately I was not hungry at sandwich time," sighed Mrs. Devar. "If it comes to that, neither was I, whereas I have a most unromantic appetite now. But what can do, as the Babus say in India. I am rather inclined to doubt the quality of anything we can buy here." Medenham's face lit up. "India!" he cried. "Have you been to India?" "Yes, have you? My father and I passed last cold weather there."