"Morning, Sam. No; I've been away with my regiment. Here, someone, S. and B." This to the attendants in the bar, where he stopped for a few minutes discussing the cooling drink, while behind the landlord's back he made a few quick entries in his book with a metallic pencil. "Dear old Hilt," he said to himself. "I was just in time. Got on for him, so that he ought to be pretty warm by to-night. How's the little star, Sam?" he cried, turning back. "Oh, she's all right, sir, thank ye." "You ought to be proud of her. She has taken all London by storm." "So I hear, sir. I am proud on her, for she's as good as she is high." "That I'm sure she is, Sam; bright, clever, witty, and not a bit of harm in her, I'll swear." "Right you are, sir. Sleep here to-night, sir?" "Of course. I wired down." "I didn't know, sir. Then, of course, it's booked. Dine too, sir?" "Can't say, Sam. I hope I shall be engaged. If I'm not I shall throw myself on Miss Simpkins's mercy." "You'll be all right, sir. I've laid in plenty o' grub." The doctor nodded, and as the landlord went on studying his betting-book he unstrapped and took out his race-glass, wiped the lenses thoughtfully, took a look through, after careful focussing, and put it back in the case. "Bless her!" he said to himself. "She's the dearest little witch that ever breathed. She ought to have been here by now. They haven't seen her at the paddock, and I can't get a peep at La Sylphide. I believe they haven't brought her up yet. Well, no wonder, considering her temper. Josh Rowle knows what he's about." He took out his glass again, focussed it, and had a good look through it at the common, alive with horse, foot and artillery, in the shape of carriages laden with ammunition, loaded bottles ready to go off included. "Does she do it to lead me on?" thought the doctor. "I wish I wasn't such a coward. But, there, if the Sylph wins I shall feel independent, and can go at her without thinking I'm a money-hunter. Then, if shell ask me to dinner, which I think she will, the wine will be in and the wit may be out, but I'll pop as well as her champagne, and know the worst. By Jove!" He closed his glass suddenly, for, brightly and fashionably dressed, Lady Tilborough passed close to the window and stopped his view of the common. The next minute she was entering the hall. CHAPTER TWELVE. THE FLOATING CLOUD. "Oh, there you are, Simpkins! You must make room for my carriage. Order them to give my coachman a separate stable. Lock up. Ah, Dr Granton, I thought you'd come and see my mare win." "I came down on purpose to see you, Lady Tilborough," was the reply, given with a warm pressure of the hand. "But, of course, I am longing to see your mare carry all before her."