"Perfect, my dear. Such a bouquet! I wonder what house it came from," and she pondered the crest again, but in vain, for heraldry is an exact science, and the greater part of her education had been given by a hard world. She did not fail, therefore, to notice that three persons were catered for by the packer of the basket. An unknown upper housemaid was already suspect, and now she added mentally "some shop-girl friend." The climax was reached when Medenham staged the strawberries. Cynthia, to whom the good things of the table were commonplaces, ate them and was thankful, but Mrs. Devar made another note: "Ten shillings a basket, at the very least; and _three baskets_!" A deep, booming yell from the mob proclaimed that the second race was in progress. "I can't see a thing unless I am perched on the seat, and if I stand up I shall upset the crockery," announced Cynthia. "But I am not interested yet awhile. If Grimalkin wins I shall shout myself hoarse." "He hasn't a ghost of a chance," said Medenham. "Oh, but he has. Mr. Deane told my father----" "But Tomkinson told me," he interrupted. "Tomkinson. Is that your butler friend?" "Yes. He says the King's horse will win." "Surely the owner of Grimalkin must know more about the race than a butler?" "You would not think so, Miss Vanrenen, if you knew Tomkinson." "Where is he butler?" asked Mrs. Devar suavely. "I forget for the moment, madam," replied Medenham with equal suavity. The lady waived the retort. She was sure of her ground now. "In any case, I imagine that both Mr. Deane and this Tomkinson may be mistaken. I am told that a horse trained locally has a splendid chance--let me see--yes, here it is: the Honorable Charles Fenton's Vendetta." It was well that those bulging steel-gray eyes were bent over the card, or they could not have failed to catch the flicker of amazement that swept across Medenham's sun-browned face when he heard the name of his cousin. He had not been in England a full week as yet, and he happened not to have read a list of probable starters for the Derby. He had glanced at the programme during breakfast that morning, but some remark made by the Earl caused him to lay down the newspaper, and, when next he picked it up, he became interested in an article on the Cape to Cairo railway, written by someone who had not the remotest notion of the difficulties to be surmounted before that very desirable line can be constructed. Cynthia, however, was watching him, and she laughed gleefully. "Ah, Fitzroy, you hadn't heard of Vendetta before," she cried. "Confess now--your faith in Tomkinson is shaken." "Vendetta certainly does sound like war to the knife," said he. "It is twenty to one," purred Mrs. Devar complacently. "I shall risk the five pounds I won on the first race, and it will be very nice if I receive a hundred." "I stick to Old Glory," announced the valiant Cynthia.