"Well, no; not quite so well as I might wish," with a faint blush. "Fact is, I rather overdid it--risked my little all upon the die--and lost." "Showing how natural talent has no chance against the whims of fickle fortune. Even the very knowing ones, you see, Mrs. Carrington, have to knock under sometimes," says Sir Mark. "How was it?" I ask Chips, with a smile. "Oh! it was a beastly shame," responds that young man. "The horse would have won in a walk if he had got fair play. It was the most outrageous transaction altogether. If the rider had gone straight, there was not an animal in the running could have beaten him. It was the clearest case of pulling you ever saw." Lady Blanche laughs softly. "I never knew an unsuccessful bettor who didn't say that," she says. "I was waiting to hear you. Each man believes the horse he fancies _would_ have won only for something. They would die rather than confess themselves ignorant." "But I always thought everything was fair and above board on a race-course," observes Harriet. Thornton roars. "Lady Handcock, you are the most charitable woman alive," he cries, gayly, "but I fear in this instance your faith in the goodness of humanity goes too far. I met Hamilton the other day, and he told me a capital story _apropos_ of racing honor. You know Hamilton, Chandos?" "Yes, I think so--middle-sized man, with a fair beard?" "What a vivid description!" murmurs Miss Beatoun, demurely. "One so _seldom_ sees a middle-sized man, with a fair beard!" Chandos glanced at her quickly, rather amused, I think, by her impertinence; but her eyes are innocently fixed on Thornton, who is evidently full of his story. "Go on, Thornton," says Sir Mark, blandly: "we are all miserable till we learn what befell your friend Hamilton." "It was at Fairy House races, last year," begins Chips, nothing daunted. "Hamilton was over in Dublin at the time, and went down there to back a horse he knew something about. A rather safe thing it was, if rightly done by; and, knowing the jock, who was a devoted adherent of his own, he went up to him on the course, to know if he might put his money on with any chance of success. 'Wait awhile, Misther H.,' says his ingenuous friend, turning a straw in his mouth with much deliberation, 'an' I'll tell ye. Come to me again in ten minutes.' Accordingly, in ten minutes Hamilton, seeing him in the paddock, dressed and mounted, went to him again. 'Well?' said he. 'Wait yet another little bit, Misther H.,' says this imperturbable gentleman; 'the instructions ain't final. Meet me in five minutes at that post,' indicating a certain spot. So Hamilton met him there, and for the third time he asked him impatiently if he meant winning. 'I do, Misther H.' says he, in a mysterious whisper, '_if the reins break!_'" We all laugh heartily, and Bebe, while declaring the story delicious, vows she has lost all faith in mankind for evermore.