was little hope of Queen Bess winning the race. But he answered with the utmost gravity: "Very well; I accept your wager. Your hand shall be the prize if the little mare wins."

"She is so very young--only eighteen," he said to himself, "that she never realized what she was saying. It was only a jolly, girlish prank." If there had been in his mind the very slightest notion that Queen Bess would win, he should have refused to accept the wager. But she surely would not win; he was certain of that. So, with an amused smile, he acquiesced in the strange compact. In the midst of the talking and laughing, the horses came cantering onto the course. It was a beautiful sight, the thoroughbred horses with their coats shining like satin, except where the white foam had specked them, as they tossed their proud heads with eager impatience, the gay colors of their riders all flashing in the sunlight.

A cheer goes up from the grandstand, then the starter takes his place, and the half-dozen horses, after some little trouble, fall into something like a line. There is an instant of expectancy, then the flag drops, and away the horses fly around the circular race track. For a moment, it is one great pell-mell rush. On, on, they fly, like giant greyhounds from the leash, down the stretch of the track, until they are but specks in the distance; then on they come, thundering past the grandstand at a maddening pace, with Robin Adair in the lead, General, Yellow Pete, and Black Daffy going like the wind at his heels, and Queen Bess--poor Queen Bess!--fully a score of yards behind.

A mad shout goes up for Robin Adair. He looks every inch the winner, with his eyes flashing, his nostrils dilated. Every man leans forward in breathless excitement. Even the ladies seem scarcely to breathe. Suddenly a horse stumbles, and the rider is thrown headlong. There is a moment's hush; but the horse is only an outsider, and the crowd cheer the rest encouragingly. For a time, they seem to run almost level, then most of the horses seem to show signs of the terrible strain. Robin Adair keeps steadily to the fore, with General closely at his heels. The rest begin to fall off."Sally," he began, "I have something very serious to say to you, and I trust you will listen to me with patience and forbearance."

Sally looked up at him in surprise, the smile fading from her lips. "Serious, Jay? What can it be? You look so grave."

He took a deep breath. "It concerns the betrothal that was announced after the race yesterday."

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