St Erth.  We ought to have stuck to the old game.  Wish I’d gone to
Newmarket, Canynge, in spite of the weather.

Canynge. [Looking at his watch] Let’s hear what’s won the
Cambridgeshire.  Ring, won’t you, Winsor? [Winsor rings.]

St Erth.  By the way, Canynge, young De Levis was blackballed.

Canynge.  What!

St Erth.  I looked in on my way down.

     Canynge sits very still, and Winsor utters a disturbed sound.

Borring.  But of c-course he was, General.  What did you expect?

     A footman enters.

Footman.  Yes, my lord?

St Erth.  What won the Cambridgeshire?

Footman.  Rosemary, my lord.  Sherbet second; Barbizon third.  Nine to one the winner.

Winsor.  Thank you.  That’s all.

     Footman goes.

Borring.  Rosemary!  And De Levis sold her!  But he got a good p-price, I suppose.

     The other three look at him.

St Erth.  Many a slip between price and pocket, young man.

Canynge.  Cut! [They cut].

Borring.  I say, is that the yarn that’s going round about his having had a lot of m-money stolen in a country house?  By Jove!  He’ll be pretty s-sick.

Winsor.  You and I, Borring.

     He sits down in Canynge’s chair, and the general takes his place by
     the fire.

Borring.  Phew!  Won’t Dancy be mad!  He gave that filly away to save her keep.  He was rather pleased to find somebody who’d take her.  Bentman must have won a p-pot.  She was at thirty-threes a fortnight ago.

St Erth.  All the money goes to fellows who don’t know a horse from a haystack.

Canynge. [Profoundly] And care less.  Yes!  We want men racing to whom a horse means something.

Borring.  I thought the horse m-meant the same to everyone, General—­ chance to get the b-better of one’s neighbour.

Canynge. [With feeling] The horse is a noble animal, sir, as you’d know if you’d owed your life to them as often as I have.

Borring.  They always try to take mine, General.  I shall never belong to the noble f-fellowship of the horse.

St Erth. [Drily] Evidently.  Deal!

     As Borring begins to deal the door is opened and Major Colford
     appears—­a lean and moustached cavalryman.

Borring.  Hallo, C-Colford.

Colford.  General!

     Something in the tone of his voice brings them all to a standstill.

Colford.  I want your advice.  Young De Levis in there [He points to the billiard-room from which he has just come] has started a blasphemous story—­