"Oh, yes, there is, if you've got the right mare and the man up who understands her, as Josh does, when he isn't on the drink. The guv'nor and Josh Rowle are the only two men who can ride La Sylphide, and I tell you it's a certainty. I've put the pot on this time." "What for?" "Because I want it to boil." "What, to make a what-you-may-call-it--a mash for La Sylphide?" "Na-a-a-y!" cried Mark. "What a dear, innocent, little darling you are, Jenny! We call it putting the pot on when we lay every dollar we can scrape together, and more too, on a horse winning." "And that's what you've done?" said Jenny, quietly. "That's right, little one; every mag." "Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mark." "What!" cried the young man in dismay. "Didn't you promise me that if I'd keep comp'ny with you, you'd give up all your old tricks you learnt with Master--Sir Hilton--and be steady?" "And so I have been. Saved every penny, and thought of nothing but getting on for you." "Yes, it looks like it," said the girl, sarcastically. "Well, so it do. This is only a bit of a flutter." "Flutter, indeed!" "And what's it for?" "To make a fool of yourself again, like your master." "Oh, is it?" said the young fellow, sturdily. "You know well enough that if I saved all my wages I couldn't save enough to take a pub in twenty years. If La Sylphide passes the post first to-day she'll land me enough to take a nice little roadside hotel, something like Sam Simpkins, the trainer at Tilborough, only not so big, of course; nice little place, where I can plant my wife behind the bar, and do a nice trade with visitors, somewhere down in the country where there's waterfalls and mountains and lakes." "And that is why you've begun betting again, Mark?" said the girl, a little more softly. "Yes, that's what I meant, my gal, for I didn't think you'd take it like that. Our mare--I mean Lady Tilborough's--La Sylphide being a certainty. But if she loses, I shan't go and marry some rich woman for the sake of her money." There was silence for a few moments, Mark turning a little away to take a pink out of his buttonhole and begin nibbling the stalk, and Jenny turning in the other direction so that her lover should not see a little sign of weakness in her eyes, which she strove hard to master, and so well that in a short time, when she spoke again, her voice sounded sharp and without a tremor. "A pretty game, I'm sure, sir. Races indeed, and betting too! Sir Hilton had better take your precious dogcart and go La Sylphiding. You mark my words, if he does her ladyship will be sure to find it out, and then if she suspects you had anything to do with it you'll get the sack." "Well, I don't know as it matters much," said the groom, drearily. "You don't seem to understand a fellow, and it's all wrong here, and it's miserable to see the poor guv'nor so down in the mouth."