"Thank you, dear boy," she said quietly. "I never thought you so true a friend before." She glanced at her watch. "Time's on the wing," she said. "Hilt Lisle ought to be here by now; he was to meet me at the hotel, but I must have a look at the mare." "May I go with you?" "If you wish to," was the reply, and joy began a triumphant dance in the young doctor's brain, for there was a something in the way in which those words were uttered. None of the light badinage, laughter and repartee, for Lady Tilborough seemed to have suddenly turned thoughtful and subdued, as she passed out, unconscious of the fact that the trainer had entered the hall and was watching her keenly. "Beg pardon, sir," he said, following up Granton. "Oh, bother! Well, what is it?" "Sorry to see her ladyship so down in the mouth now. You should put her up to a bit of hedging on Jim Crow." Granton gave him a peculiar look, full of perfect content, and laughed aloud. "Moonshine!" he cried, and dashed after the sporting countess. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. "MY DAUGHTER AND MY SON-IN-LAW." "Moonshine!" said the trainer, with a puzzled look after the departing doctor. "Laughing like an idiot. Rum how it takes different people. Here's my stepping lady looking as if she meant to take pyson in her five o'clock tea, the doctor regularly off his chump, and I dessay someone'll go home by train to-night, load a revolver, and--click! All over. Well, they shouldn't meddle with what they don't understand. Reg'lar gambling, and they deserve all they get. Hullo! You here again?" This to the pink-coated tout, who came smiling and cringing up to the door. "Brought yer a tip. Something good, Mr Simpkins, sir." "Yah! Rubbish! My book's chock." "But it's the tippiest tip, sir, as ever was," whispered the man from behind his hand. "Worth a Jew's eye." "I'm fly, Dinny," said the trainer, with a wink. "Tell it to some one else. I don't trade to-day." "You'll repent it, Mr Sam, sir," whispered the man, earnestly, and with many nods and jerks of the head, as he kept looking about furtively to see that they were not overheard. "Of course. All right," said the trainer, contemptuously. "Down on your luck, eh, Dinny?" "Terrible, sir." "Want a drink?" The man smiled, and drew the back of a dirty hand across his cracked and fevered lips. "Go round to the tap and say I sent you. Here, twist those cards round." The man obeyed promptly, and after placing the point of his black lead-pencil to his lips the trainer scrawled laboriously: "One drink.-- S.S." "Used to be private bar--once," muttered the man, with an eager, thirsty look in his bleared and bloodshot eyes. "Thank ye, Mr Sam, sir, and good luck to yer. My word, what a beauty she have growed, sir! Lady T.'s nothing to her."