"Ladies are never reasonable, my lord --especially young ones. I have met Miss Vanrenen only once, but she struck me as one who was very much accustomed to having her own way. And she has planned this tour to the last minute. Any other day I might have hired a car and picked up my own somewhere on the road, but on Derby Day and in fine weather----"

Simmonds spread wide his hands in sheer inability to find words that would express the hopelessness of retrieving his shattered fortunes. Dale was fidgeting, fingering taps and screws unnecessarily, but Medenham was pondering his former trooper's plight. He refused to admit that the position was quite so bad as it was painted.

"Oh, come now," said he, "I'll give you a tow to the nearest repair shop, and a word from me will expedite the business. Meanwhile, you must jump into a hansom and appeal to the sympathies of Miss Vanrenen, is it?"

"No use, my lord," was the stubborn answer. "I am very much obliged to you, but I would not dream of detaining you."

"Simmonds, you are positively cantankerous. I can spare the time."

"The first race is at 1.30, my lord," muttered Dale, greatly daring.

Medenham laughed.

"You, too?" he cried. "Someone has given you a tip, I suppose?"

Dale flushed under this direct analysis of his feelings. He grinned sheepishly.

"I am told that Eyot can't lose the first race, my lord," he said.

"Ah! And how much do you mean to speculate?"

"A sovereign, my lord."

"Hand it over. I will lay you starting price."

Somewhat taken aback, though nothing said or done by Viscount Medenham could really surprise him, Dale's leather garments creaked and groaned while he produced the coin, which his master duly pocketed.

"Now, Simmonds," went on the pleasant, lazy voice, "you see how I have comforted Dale by taking his money; won't you tell me what is the real obstacle that blocks the way? Are you afraid to face this imperious young lady?"

"No, my 

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