Mr. Stallbrass was not given to conversation when he was driving, his attention being almost entirely occupied with his horses, which he had brought to a great state of perfection and simultaneous stepping; so that, with the exception of pointing with his whip to one or two houses where "old Jack Green" had either lived, or had known some one who had lived there, which gave the place quite an interest in Mr. Stallbrass's eyes, he was silent during the drive, and his companion was left to his own reflections. And these were not of a particularly pleasant kind. Mr. Guyon had hacked the favourite for the steeplechase now about to be decided, to a far greater extent than any one, even his sporting friend beside him, knew of; and until that present moment had never seriously attempted to realise his position in case his horse should be beaten. Floating through life in his usual airy manner, with good clothes on his back and a few pounds in his pocket, which prevented him feeling the pressure of any immediate necessity, "handsome Ned Guyon" closed his eyes to disagreeable objects in his old age as readily as he had done in his youth, and sturdily refused to look at the shadows of any coming events. Should his horse win--and he must, damme, he must--Mr. Guyon would, on the settling-day, come into possession of what he termed "a hatful" of money; enough to pay off all his most pressing creditors, without the necessity of seeking aid from Streightley, whose stern face was like a very baleful vision before his father-in-law's imagination. And if the horse were beaten--the old gentleman took off his hat and wiped his brow, on which great beads of sweat had burst out at the mere supposition--well, if the horse were beaten, he should quietly drop across to Boulogne, and stay there until matters were blown over. Katharine would send him pocket-money, and that sort of thing; and there was life in the old dog yet, and, damme, they should see he wasn't beaten.