“God knows; I’m quite sure that _I_ don’t!” said Arthur helplessly, for he foresaw endless difficulties--greater difficulties far than Horace could form any idea of--in the process of “tackling” to which his brother alluded. “It’s such a nuisance--such a horrible nuisance--to be questioned in this sort of way!” “Is it? I don’t think I should mind it; that is to say if I was all right--all on the square, you know. The fact is, Atty,--and I can see it as plain as possible, though of course it isn’t pleasant to you to believe it,--that old Duberly has got _two_ ideas about this business in his head; and these two ideas are, in my opinion, two too many. In the first place he is suspicious, as old fellows of that kind are so apt to be, about the horse-breeding part of the affair. Now, if you could tell him on your honour that you have no horse in training--that you have not the slightest intention, either directly or indirectly, of going on the turf--why there would be nothing more to be said on that score.” Arthur rose from his chair and walked about the room impatiently. “But suppose I _can’t_ swear to that?” he said, speaking in the annoyed tone of a man who had forced himself to utter a disagreeable truth. “The fact is,” he went on confidentially, “I have bought--on tick of course--one of John Beacham’s yearlings--the best he has bred since he began the concern--by Oddfellow out of Gay Lady. You never saw such bone! John’s quite certain--and you know how safe he is--that my colt--Rough Diamond his name is--will be a Derby horse. I paid a long price for him--I’m half afraid to say how much--but when one is so positively certain to make such a pot of money as I shall, why what _does_ it signify?” The look--half comic and half pityingly sardonic--that settled for a moment on the plain, but singularly expressive, face of Horace Vavasour would have been a study for a picture. “So!” he drawled out, “the old fellow is not so far wrong after all! No wonder you were taken aback when he asked those leading questions!” “Taken aback! I should think I just was! Why I should like to know what _you_ would have been!” “Quite as much disgusted, I suspect, if not more than you were yourself; but somehow or other, Atty--though I don’t set up for being a bit better than other people--these are not, I fancy, exactly the kind of hobbles that I should have been likely to get into.” “What do you mean?” asked Arthur a little sulkily. “It strikes me that I haven’t done anything at all out of the common way.” “Not the least in the world,” rejoined Horace drily; “but that does not disprove what I said. I don’t want to boast. The fact, if it were proved, is nothing to be proud of; but I feel sure that I should not have made love to one woman while I was engaged to another; and as certain am I of this--that I should not have gone into partnership with an honest man like John, in order that--”