Such was the splendid, reckless fashion in which the Marquess would fling about his wagers until he frequently stood to win or lose L50,000 on a single race.  If he had always kept his head under the intoxication of this wild gambling he might perhaps have made another fortune equal to that he had inherited.  But his wagering was as erratic as himself, and his gains were punctuated by heavy losses which began to make inroads on even his enormous resources.

The first crushing blow fell on that memorable day when Hermit struggled through a blinding snowstorm first past the post in the Derby of 1867, to the open-mouthed amazement of every looker on; for Mr Chaplin’s colt had been considered so hopeless that odds of forty to one were freely laid against him.

Hermit’s sensational victory was the climax of a singular and romantic story.  Three years earlier Lady Florence Paget, daughter of the second Marquess of Anglesey, had been the affianced bride of Mr Henry Chaplin, who was passionately devoted to her, little dreaming that another had stolen her heart from him.  One day Lady Florence, with Mr Chaplin for escort, drove to Messrs Swan & Edgar’s, ostensibly on shopping bent; but the shopping was merely a cloak to another and treacherous design.  She entered the shop, slipped out through the back entrance where Lord Hastings was awaiting her, jumped into his cab, and was whirled away while her fiance patiently and unsuspectingly awaited her return at the opposite side of the building.

When Mr Chaplin realised the dastardly trick that had been played on him, he bore the blow to his pride and affection right bravely.  No trace of resentment was ever shown to the world; but he would have been less than a man if he had not cherished thoughts of retaliation.  His opportunity came when Hermit was offered for sale by auction, and Lord Hastings was among the keenest bidders for the son of Newminster and Eclipse.  At any cost Mr Chaplin determined to baffle his betrayer for once—­and he succeeded; for, when the Marquess stopped short at 950 guineas, Mr Chaplin secured the colt by a further bid of 50 guineas.

At the time he little realised—­nor did he much care—­what a bargain he had got; for Hermit not only sired two Derby winners in Shotover and St Blaise, before he died his sons and daughters had won among them L300,000 in stake-money alone.  Not much later came that ill-starred Derby, which none who saw it can ever forget.  Lord Hastings, angry at having lost the horse to his rival, laid the long odds against Hermit so recklessly that he stood to lose a large fortune by his success; and Hermit’s last few gallant strides cost him over L100,000.

It was a staggering blow, under which the most stoical man with the longest purse might well have reeled; but the Marquess met it with a smile of indifference; and when, a few minutes later, he drove off the course, with his friends, in a barouche and four to dine at Richmond, he seemed the gayest of the company.  A few days before his death, recalling this tragic moment in his life, he said proudly, “Hermit fairly broke my heart.  But I didn’t show it, did I?”