Her first instinct was to send for Baring, but she thrust it from her.  No!  She must find another way.  There must be a way out if she were only quick enough to see it—­some way by which she could cover up his disgrace so that none should know of it.  There was a way—­surely there was a way!  Ronnie’s dull stare became intolerable.  She went to him, bravely, steadfastly.

“Go and lie down!” she said.  “I will see about it for you.”

Something in her own words sent a sudden flash through her brain.  She caught her breath, and her face turned very white.  But her steadfastness did not forsake her.  She took Ronnie by the arm and guided him to his room.

IX

THE RACE

“Such a pity.  Hope can’t come!”

Mrs. Latimer addressed Baring, who had just approached her across the racecourse.  The sun was shining brilliantly, and the scene was very gay.

Baring, who had drawn near with a certain eagerness, seemed to stiffen at her words.

“Can’t come!” he echoed.  “Why not?”

Mrs. Latimer handed him a note.

“She sent this round half an hour ago.”

Baring read the note with bent brows.  It merely stated that the writer had been working all the morning and was a little tired.  Would Mrs. Latimer kindly understand and excuse her?

He handed it back without comment.

“Where is young Carteret?” he asked.  “Have you seen him yet?”

“No,” she answered.  “Somebody was saying he was late.  Ah!  There he is, surely—­just going into the weighing-tent.  What a superb horse that is of Mr. Hyde’s!  Do you think he will win the Cup?”

Baring thought it likely, but he said it with so preoccupied an air that
Mrs. Latimer smiled, and considerately refrained from detaining him.

She watched him walk down towards the weighing-tent; but before he reached it, she saw the figure of young Carteret issue forth at the farther end, and start off at a run with his saddle on his shoulder towards the enclosure where the racers were waiting.  He was late, and she thought he looked flurried.

A few minutes later Baring returned to her.

“The boy is behindhand, as usual,” he remarked.  “I didn’t get near him.  Time is just up.  I hear the Rajah thinks very highly of Hyde’s Waler.”

Mrs. Latimer looked across at the Indian Prince who was presenting the Cup.  He was seated in the midst of a glittering crowd of natives and British officers.  She saw that he was closely scanning the restless line of horses at the starting-point.

Through her glasses she sought the big black Waler.  He was foaming and stamping uneasily, and she saw that his rider’s face was deadly pale.

“I don’t believe Ronnie can be well,” she said.  “He looks so nervous.”

Baring grunted in a dissatisfied note, but said nothing.