“Yes, sir; but would you like to see him across the paddock?”

“Yes,” said Adrien.  “By the way, who rides him to-morrow?”

“Peacock, sir.”

“Ah, the new jockey.”

“Yes, sir; Mr. Vermont’s lad,” returned the groom.

“A good seat?” asked Adrien.

“Capital, never saw a better, sir, and weighs next to nothing.  I’ll send for him.”  He whistled, and half a dozen stable helpers rushing forward, he despatched them to find the jockey.  While waiting, the groom had the precious “King” brought into the yard and saddled; and in a few moments the man arrived.  Markham had called him a lad; but in reality he was almost middle-aged, with the stunted stature of a child.  Adrien looked him over critically.

“So you ride the ‘King’ to-morrow?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied the dwarf humbly.

“Let me see you take him round the paddock,” said Adrien.  The man threw off his coat, showing himself to be in shabby riding costume; then, vaulting into the saddle, he took the racer to the meadow at the back of the stable-yard.  Adrien watched the bird-like flight of the superb animal, and nodded approvingly when he presently returned to the starting-point.

“You’ll do,” he said, as the jockey dismounted; “ride like that to-morrow, and we shall win.  There is something for you, but no drinking, mind.”

He held out a ten-pound note as he spoke.  The man stared at it for a moment, then crouching almost like a dog, took it gingerly by the edge.

“Don’t be afraid, man; one would think you expected a blow,” said Adrien, with a smile.

Touching his forelock, the man took the note, and Adrien turned away.  As he walked out of the stable-yard he happened to glance back at Markham, who was re-covering the “King,” and he saw that the jockey was still gazing after him, with a tense, almost longing expression in his small, deep-set eyes.

“Poor devil!” said Leroy to himself as he went up the drive, “I must get Jasper to do something for him, especially if he wins—­I only hope he doesn’t get drunk!”

In the courtyard Lady Constance’s horse and his own were waiting for him and in a few moments the girl herself appeared, accompanied by the ever-smiling Jasper Vermont.

Blessed by nature with a good figure, Art, as represented by French modistes and Redfern, had put the finishing touches, with the result that Lady Constance Tremaine, whether in evening dress or the blue cloth riding-habit of the field, was a joy to the eye.  As she stood now, waiting Adrien’s approach, he could not help mentally contrasting her natural, spiritual type of beauty with the made-up and coarsened charms of Ada Lester, and he wondered how he could have been so blind as not to notice it before.

He was not the only one who admired her.  Jasper Vermont had elected himself as the girl’s chief slave, and whenever he was at Barminster Castle invariably managed to carry out her lightest whims—­indeed, would even endeavour to forestall them.  Now it was he who attended to her saddle, and helped her into it before Adrien had fully realised what he was about to do; and for once Leroy experienced just the least feeling of resentment towards his devoted friend.