“I can give you two minutes, Algy,” she said, as he entered and found her opportunely alone.  “We have lost, I hear.  No interjection, pray.  Let it be, fors l’honneur, with us.  Come to me to-morrow.  You have tossed trinkets into my lap.  They were marks of esteem, my cousin.  Take them in the same light back from me.  Turn them into money, and pay what is most pressing.  Then go to Lord Suckling.  He is a good boy, and won’t distress you; but you must speak openly to him at once.  Perhaps he will help you.  I will do my best, though whether I can, I have yet to learn.”

“Dear Mrs. Lovell!” Algernon burst out, and the corners of his mouth played nervously.

He liked her kindness, and he was wroth at the projected return of his gifts.  A man’s gifts are an exhibition of the royalty of his soul, and they are the last things which should be mentioned to him as matters to be blotted out when he is struggling against ruin.  The lady had blunt insight just then.  She attributed his emotion to gratitude.

“The door may be opened at any minute,” she warned him.

“It’s not about myself,” he said; “it’s you.  I believe I tempted you to back the beastly horse.  And he would have won—­a fair race, and he would have won easy.  He was winning.  He passed the stand a head ahead.  He did win.  It’s a scandal to the Turf.  There’s an end of racing in England.  It’s up.  They’ve done for themselves to-day.  There’s a gang.  It’s in the hands of confederates.”

“Think so, if it consoles you,” said Mrs. Lovell, “don’t mention your thoughts, that is all.”

“I do think so.  Why should we submit to a robbery?  It’s a sold affair.  That Frenchman, Baron Vistocq, says we can’t lift our heads after it.”

“He conducts himself with decency, I hope.”

“Why, he’s won!”

“Imitate him.”

Mrs. Lovell scanned the stalls.

“Always imitate the behaviour of the winners when you lose,” she resumed.  “To speak of other things:  I have had no letter of late from Edward.  He should be anxious to return.  I went this morning to see that unhappy girl.  She consents.”

“Poor creature,” murmured Algernon; and added “Everybody wants money.”

“She decides wisely; for it is the best she can do.  She deserves pity, for she has been basely used.”

“Poor old Ned didn’t mean,” Algernon began pleading on his cousin’s behalf, when Mrs. Lovell’s scornful eye checked the feeble attempt.

“I am a woman, and, in certain cases, I side with my sex.”

“Wasn’t it for you?”

“That he betrayed her?  If that were so, I should be sitting in ashes.”

Algernon’s look plainly declared that he thought her a mystery.

The simplicity of his bewilderment made her smile.

“I think your colonies are the right place for you, Algy, if you can get an appointment; which must be managed by-and-by.  Call on me to-morrow, as I said.”