"I came to you for bread, and you've given me a stone," he said. "You make it impossible for me to ask Miss Gay to be my wife--and you know it." "I think you did wrong to cheat, so that she might win what was practically valueless," said Chris quietly. "I repeat that you had no right to lay her under such an enormous obligation." "I did not expect to be bowled out," said Mackrell sullenly. "Her dearest wish was to win the Vase--it was my earnest desire that she should do so--my thoughts went no further than that. If that infernal chap hadn't followed me, Miss Gay would have believed she had won on her horse's merits, for you may be sure I should never have undeceived her." Chris silently held out his hand, and Mackrell, after a moment's hesitation, took it. "Can nothing be done?" said Chris. "It's preposterous that you are to be made an example of like this! Have you seen Rensslaer?" "No. I took Gay back to town--of course she did not know about me. Heavens! I expect they're tearing her to pieces at Connaught Square. It's on her account I'm here--I thought she might have 'phoned to you--told you how she was." "No, but I expect to hear presently. I've sent Min Toplady to her." "Good old Min!" exclaimed Mackrell. "I'm sorry for anyone who attempts to bully Miss Gay in _her_ presence." Chris laughed. "Have a drink, old man, and buck up," he said. "Unless I'm much mistaken, Miss Gay drove her first and last race to-day, and her horses will be "scratched" without delay. It wouldn't trouble me much if mine were," he added gloomily, "for I have no luck." The telephone bell rang. "Yes--yes--are you there? It's all right, Mr. Chris, Miss Lossie is gone--I've rated the Professor, and put Miss Gay to bed. There's been a lot of fur and feathers flying ... _that_ Miss Lossie. I 'phoned Mr. Mackrell at his club, but he wasn't there. Miss Gay wanted him to call to-morrow morning first thing after breakfast--" "Here," said Chris, and held out the receiver to Carlton. "Oh! it's you, Mr. Mackrell, that's all right--yes, I'll 'phone Miss Gay in the morning that you're coming. What ... you can't ... you're going to Paris! Miss Gay sent her love to Mr. Chris. Good-night." * * * * * * Gay had made no reply to the frequent and irritating knocks on her door, but soon after eight had struck, a welcome voice issuing from the keyhole made her jump up, and promptly turn the key. "My lamb," cried Min Toplady, folding her in a motherly embrace, and Gay, clinging to her, cried her heart out, and was comforted and made comfortable, and presently, with the blinds pulled down, a wood fire lit, and a dinner tray placed before her that the cook had carefully prepared, Gay was able to laugh at herself, and even enjoy Min's unconcealed delight at the brilliant style in which she had won her race that day.