for you to get into
the papers, eh! Publicity waits on you like a valet."

"But that's just the kind of valet I can't afford in my profession,"
said Harry.

The conversation was all trivial and customary. But Joan Whitworth
leaned forward with a light upon her face that had never yet burnt
there. Colonel Luttrell was presented to Mr. Albany Todd, who was most
kind and condescending. Joan looked suddenly down at her bilious frock,
and the horror of her sandals was something she could hardly bear. They
would turn to her next. Yes, they would turn to her! She looked
desperately towards the great staircase with its broad, shallow steps
which ran up round two sides of the hall. Millie Splay was actually
beginning to turn to her, when Dennis Brown came unconsciously to her
rescue.

"We looked out for you at Gatwick," he said.

"I only just reached the race course in time for the last race," said
Harry Luttrell. "Luckily for me."

"Why luckily?" asked Harold Jupp in surprise.

"Because I backed the winner," replied Luttrell.

The indefatigable race-goers gathered about him a little closer; and
Joan Whitworth rose noiselessly from her chair.

"Which horse won?" asked Harold Jupp.

"Loman!" Harold Jupp stared at Dennis Brown. Incredulity held them as in
bonds.

"But he couldn't win!" they both cried in a breath.

"He did, you know, and at a long price."

"What on earth made you back him?" asked Dennis Brown.

"Well," Luttrell answered, "he was the only white horse in the race."

Miranda uttered a cry of pleasure. She recognised a brother. "That's an
awfully good reason," she cried. But science fell with a crash. Dennis
Brown took his "Form at a Glance" from his pocket, and sadly began to
tear the pages across. Harold Jupp looked on at that act of sacrilege.

"It doesn't matter," he said, and offered his invariable consolation.
"Flat racing's no use. We'll go jumping in the winter."

But Harold Jupp was never again to go jumping in the winter. Long before
steeple chasing began that year, he was lying out on the flat land
beyond the Somme, with a bullet through his heart.

Dennis Brown returned "Form at a Glance" to his pocket; and Millie Splay
drew Harry Luttrell away from the group.

"I want to introduce you to Joan Whitworth," she said, and she turned to
the chair in which Joan had been sitting a few moments ago.

It was empty.

"Why, where in the world has Joan gone to?" she exclaimed.

"She has fle