The evening passed quietly.  Adrien himself refused to sing, though he stayed close by his cousin’s side, and turned over the pages of her music with such a devoted air that at last the ladies of the party began to whisper knowingly amongst themselves.

Luckily for Adrien’s peace of mind—­for he loathed and dreaded scenes of any description—­Lady Merivale had not returned with the party to the Castle, much as Miss Penelope had wished it.  Eveline Merivale was only too cognisant of what was passing between Lady Constance and her cousin; and though she knew that Adrien and herself had merely played at love, and greatly against his will, at that, still she was just as unwilling to see him the devoted slave of another woman, who was younger, if not more beautiful, than herself.

After the ladies had retired for; the night, Adrien gave himself up to unaccustomed reverie.  The tenor of his life had been changed.  The inane senseless round of dissipation had begun to tire him; the homage and flattery cloyed on his palate.  And now, with his newborn love for Constance filling his heart and mind, had come the overwhelming failure of his beloved horse, and the death of his jockey; the last causing him more pain than the light-hearted companions around him would have believed possible.  Neither had the half-defined charge made against Jasper escaped his notice, though he had disdained to make any mention of it.

Shelton noticed his absent manner, as they smoked their last cigar before going to bed.

“Counting up the losses, Adrien?” he asked casually.

Adrien started at the question, and smiled.

“Not I,” he said, “I leave that to Jasper—­I call him my walking account-book.  I’m sorry you fellows were let in though; I can’t understand it; although”—­with a rueful laugh—­“I suppose it was my fault with that tenner.  Yet, I must say, I noticed the man as he galloped past, and saw no, signs of anything wrong.”

“Nor I,” put in Vermont.  “I was in the weighting-room, and saw him scaled.  He was all right then.  He always was white and seedy-looking.  I saw nothing wrong.”

“Nor I,” echoed the others.

Adrien lit another cigar, and the light fell full on his grave face.

“The losses are heavy all round; yet, speaking for myself,” he said, “I would have rather dropped treble the amount than that poor fellow should have lost his life by a horse of mine.”

“His own fault.  It was absolutely a case of suicide,” declared Lord Standon angrily.  “He put the ‘King’ to that last hurdle half a minute too soon.  The horse was not to blame; he would have taken the hedge, and another on top of that, but for that unlucky spurt.  ’Pon my soul,” he concluded hotly, “if I didn’t know how well he’d been cared for, I should have said it was done on purpose!”

Unlucky youth! he little knew the harm he had done his empty pockets by this rash speech.  Jasper Vermont’s eyes narrowed, as was their wont when anything occurred to annoy him, and he registered a mental note against the unfortunate peer’s name.