"Poor old sister!" He put up his hand and laid it gently on her forehead. Then suddenly he hid his face. "Oh, Janey, I'm so happy!" CHAPTER X TONY BACKS AN OUTSIDER November came in cloth of gold--a hazy sunshine put yellow everywhere, into the bleak rain-washed fields, the white, cold mirrors of ponds, the brown heart of woods. Lingfield races were on the first of the month--from noon onwards the race-trains clanked down from London, and disgorged their sordid contents. The public-houses were full, the little village, generally so pure and drowsy, woke up to its monthly contamination. It was the last meeting of the flat-racing season, and most of the "county" was present, crowding the paddock and the more expensive enclosures, eating its lunch to the accompaniment of a band too much engrossed in the betting for the interests of good music. Nigel Furlonger met Tony Strife at the top of Wilderwick hill. He had dressed himself with more care than usual--in the girl's interest he must look respectable. Leonard and Janet had been immensely surprised when he told them he meant to go to the races. The Furlonger disreputableness owed some of its celebrity to the fact that it ran along channels of its own, neglecting those approved by wealth and fashion. "Feel you've got too much cash?" jeered Leonard. "I shan't do any betting to speak of." "Don't you!" said Janey; "we're stony enough as things are." "But I'm not bound to lose--I may win, and retrieve the family fortunes." "Look here, my boy," said Len, "you leave the family fortunes alone. You've done too much in that line already." Nigel coloured furiously--but the next moment his anger cooled; he had been wonderfully gentler during the last few days. He turned, and emptied his pockets on the table. "There--take it all--except five bob for luck--and a half-crown for----" He was going to have said "the little girl's tea," but stopped just in time. He occasionally wondered why he did not tell Len and Janet about Tony. But he felt doubtful as to what they might say. They would never understand how he could find such a comradeship congenial. Tony was only sixteen, and lived a very different life from his. They might laugh--no, they would not do that; more likely they would be anxious and compassionate, they would think it one of the unhealthy results of prison, they would be sorry for him, and he could not bear that they should be sorry for what brought him so much happiness. Besides, he had a natural habit of reserve--even before he went to prison he had kept secrets from Len and Janey. Tony was waiting for him when he reached their meeting-place. She wore a plain dark coat and skirt, but she had put on a wide hat, with a wreath of crimson leaves round it, and instead of plaiting her hair, she let it stream over her shoulders, thick and sleek, without a curl. In her hand she clutched a little purse. "I'm going to bet on a horse," she said in an awe-struck voice. "Which horse?"