Robert nodded.  He stopped and looked back towards the big central tent.  It had grown at once larger and vaguer.  The lighted entrance had a sort of halo round it like the moon before it is going to rain.  There was an empty, sinking feeling in his stomach, and he too had begun to tremble, in little, uncontrollable gusts.  He let go his hold on Rufus’s hand so that he should not know.

“I’ve got two bob—­somewhere,” he heard himself saying casually and rather grandly.

He knew now that he would never see her again.  There was no struggle in his mind, because there did not seem to be any choice.  It wasn’t that little Cosgrave counted more—­he hardly counted at all in that moment.  But she, if she knew he existed, would expect him to do the right, the fine thing.  Francey would have expected it.  And she was only a mere girl.  How much more this noble, wonderful woman?  It was better than clapping.  Somewhere at the back of his mind was the idea that he offered her a more gallant tribute, and that one day she would know that he had stuck up for Cosgrave for her sake, and, remote and godlike though she was, be just a little pleased.  The comfort of it was a faint warm light showing through his darkness.  It was all he had.  As he dug those last, most precious shillings out of the chaos of his pockets he felt himself go sick and faint, just as he had done when, in a desperate fight, a boy bigger than himself had kicked his shin.

“There—­you can put them back, can’t you?  He’ll never know——­”

Rufus stopped crying instantly, after the miraculous fashion of his years.  He cut an elfish caper.  He rubbed himself against his saviour like some small grateful animal.

“I say, you are a brick.  I knew you’d help somehow.  Won’t he be sold, though?  I’ll just love to see his beastly face!  What luck—­not having a father, like you.  I say, though, is that all you’ve got?  You won’t be able to go to the show now—­and you’re so keen, aren’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Robert answered carelessly.  “I don’t mind much—­not really.”

He began to walk on, Rufus tagging valiantly at his heels.

“And—­and if anyone asks—­you’ll say I was at your place—­doing prep.—­won’t you?”

“Oh, rather——­”

“It’s awfully decent of you.  You don’t mind telling fibs, do you, Robert?”

“One has to,” Robert answered austerely.  “Everyone has to.”

Now that it was all over and he turned his back on her for ever, the splendid glow of renunciation began to fade.  Life stretched before him, a black limitless emptiness.  He wished agonizedly that Arabesque had gone mad and bolted and that he had stopped him and saved his rider’s life, dying gloriously and at once, instead of miserably and by inches, like this.  He felt that in a moment the pain in his throat would get the better of him and he would begin to cry.

They stopped at the far end of the Green where it was dark and they could hardly see each other.  He heard Cosgrave breathing heavily through his nose, almost snorting, and then a timid, shamefaced whisper: