"Constance, _dear_ child!" began Lady Adela, amid unseemly laughter. "It was all right, Lady Adela," Miss Damer assured her. "They were quite a nice crowd, and I had Dicky with me." "You are a great deal better able to take care of yourself than I am, old lady," said The Freak admiringly. I saw Miss Beverley’s fine eyes rest disapprovingly for a moment upon her philogynistic swain. Then some one asked:-- "What is your tip, Connie?" Miss Damer scanned her paper. "It’s not very well written," she said. "Perry--Perry--something." "Periander?" I suggested. "He is on the card." "Yes--Periander. I shall back him." "Rank outsider," said Mr. Crick’s warning voice. "I shall back him all the same," persisted Miss Damer, with a little nod of finality. "It would n’t be fair to Lively’s luck if I did n’t. Mr. Carmyle, will you come and find a bookmaker with me?" We departed together, and pushed our way through the crowd to the ring. On our journey we passed Miss Damer’s protégé, still dispensing reliable information in a costume composed of check trousers, an officer’s scarlet mess-jacket, stained and bleached almost beyond recognition by the accidents of many race-courses, and a large bowler hat adorned with a peacock’s feather. A broken nose made him conveniently recognisable by those (if such there were) who might desire to consult him a second time. Miss Damer, for whom castaways and lame dogs in general seemed to have a peculiar fascination, showed a disposition to linger again; but a timely reminder as to the necessity of getting our money on at once took us past the danger point and saved me from participating in a public appearance. Presently we found ourselves amid the book-making fraternity. The numbers of the runners had gone up, and lungs of brass were proclaiming the odds in fierce competition. "What does ’six to four the field’ mean?" enquired Miss Damer. "I always forget." I turned to answer the question, but found that it had not been addressed to me. My companion was now engaged in animated conversation with a total stranger, and for the next five minutes I stood respectfully aloof while the pair discussed _seriatim_ the prospects of each horse upon the card. "He says Periander is an outsider," Miss Damer informed me, as the man moved away, awkwardly raising his hat. "But I think I must back him. Cornucopia is a certainty for this race, he told me." ("A pinch" was what the gentleman had said: I overheard him.) "You had better put something on him." I meekly assented, and after Miss Damer had found her bookmaker we adventured ten shillings upon Periander and Cornucopia respectively. Public estimation of the former animal’s form was such as to secure odds of ten to one for Miss Damer. I was informed that the two steeds owned by the Earl of Moddlewick and Mr. Hector McCorquodale were not running, so a Diogenean search for Lady Adela’s cheap and respectable bookmaker was not required of me. Suddenly a bell rang.