That his smiling face must have masked a very heavy heart, it scarcely needed his own confession to prove.  Rich as he still was, the loss of more than L100,000 was a very serious matter.  Indeed we know that he was only able to meet his liabilities by parting with his magnificent estate of Loudoun in Scotland, which realised L300,000.  When the doors of Tattersall’s opened on the morning of settling-day, the first to present themselves were his agents, who handed over L103,000 in settlement of all claims against the Marquess.  Mr Chaplin had scored, and scored heavily; but at least it should never be said that his defeated rival had shrunk from paying the last ounce of the penalty the moment it was due.

When next his lordship appeared on a race-course—­it was at Ascot, a few months later—­he was greeted with thunders of cheers from the bookmakers, a tribute to his pluck and sportsmanship, which must have taken away some of the sting of defeat.  But fate which had dealt this merciless blow to the Marquess was in no mood to spare him further disaster.  The second stroke fell within five months of the first—­at the Newmarket second October Meeting.  The favourite for the Middle Park Plate was Lord Hastings’ filly, Elizabeth, whose chances he fancied so much that he backed her heavily, confident that he would recover a great part of his Derby losses.

When Elizabeth, instead of running away from her rivals, passed the winning-post a bad fifth, even his iron nerve failed him for once.  He uttered no word; but he grew pale as death, and staggered as if about to fall.  A moment later, however, he had pulled himself together and was helping Lady Aylesbury to count her small losses.  “Tell me how I stand,” asked her ladyship, as she placed her betting-book in his hand.  The Marquess made the necessary calculation; and with a smile of sympathy, answered:  “You have lost L23.”  And he, who could thus calmly calculate so trifling a loss, was L50,000 poorer by his filly’s failure to win the Plate!

He knew well that he was a ruined man—­worse than this, unutterably galling to his proud spirit—­he knew that he was a disgraced man.  His vast fortune had crumbled away until he had not L50,000 in the world to pay this last debt of honour.  And yet he continued to smile in the face of ruin, carrying through this crowning disaster the brave heart of an English gentleman and a sportsman.

He sold the last of his remaining acres, his hunters and hounds, and all his personal belongings; and all the money he could raise from the wreckage of his fortune was a pitiful L10,000.  His last sovereign was gone, and he was L40,000 in debt, without a hope of paying it.  When he next appeared on a race-course the very men who had cheered him to the echo at Ascot greeted him with jeers and angry shouts at Epsom.  The hero of the Turf, the idol of the Ring, was that blackest of black sheep, a defaulter!

And not only was he thus branded as a defaulter.  Strange stories were being circulated to his further discredit as a sportsman.  The running of Lady Elizabeth in one race was, it was said, more than open to suspicion.  The Earl, who was considered a certainty for the Derby, was unaccountably scratched on the very evening before the race, though the Marquess stood to win L35,000 by her, and did not hedge the stake-money.