“I seem to remember a glimpse of lemon sleeves or cap, but I can’t be sure,” said Lola, after due reflection.

“There isn’t a lemon jacket or cap in the race,” said Bertie, referring to a list of starters and jockeys; “can’t you remember anything about the appearance of the horse?  If it were a thick-set animal, this bread and butter would typify Nursery Tea; and if it were thin, of course, it would mean Le Five O’Clock.”

“That seems sound enough,” said Mrs. de Claux; “do think, Lola dear, whether the horse in your dream was thin or stoutly built.”

“I can’t remember that it was one or the other,” said Lola; “one wouldn’t notice such a detail in the excitement of a finish.”

“But this was a symbolic animal,” said Sir Lulworth; “if it were to typify thick or thin bread and butter surely it ought to have been either as bulky and tubby as a shire cart-horse; or as thin as a heraldic leopard.”

“I’m afraid you are rather a careless dreamer,” said Bertie resentfully.

“Of course, at the moment of dreaming I thought I was witnessing a real race, not the portent of one,” said Lola; “otherwise I should have particularly noticed all helpful details.”

“The Derby isn’t run till to-morrow,” said Mrs. de Claux; “do you think you are likely to have the same dream again to-night?  If so; you can fix your attention on the important detail of the animal’s appearance.”

“I’m afraid I shan’t sleep at all to-night,” said Lola pathetically; “every fifth night I suffer from insomnia, and it’s due to-night.”

“It’s most provoking,” said Bertie; “of course, we can back both horses, but it would be much more satisfactory to have all our money on the winner.  Can’t you take a sleeping-draught, or something?”

“Oakleaves, soaked in warm water and put under the bed, are recommended by some,” said Mrs. de Claux.

“A glass of Benedictine, with a drop of eau-de-Cologne—­” said Sir Lulworth.

“I have tried every known remedy,” said Lola, with dignity; “I’ve been a martyr to insomnia for years.”

“But now we are being martyrs to it,” said Odo sulkily; “I particularly want to land a big coup over this race.”

“I don’t have insomnia for my own amusement,” snapped Lola.

“Let us hope for the best,” said Mrs. de Claux soothingly; “to-night may prove an exception to the fifth-night rule.”

But when breakfast time came round again Lola reported a blank night as far as visions were concerned.

“I don’t suppose I had as much as ten minutes’ sleep, and, certainly, no dreams.”

“I’m so sorry, for your sake in the first place, and ours as well,” said her hostess; “do you think you could induce a short nap after breakfast?  It would be so good for you—­and you might dream something.  There would still be time for us to get our bets on.”

“I’ll try if you like,” said Lola; “it sounds rather like a small child being sent to bed in disgrace.”