"Will you allow me?" Jacob ventured, producing his pocketbook and
handing a five-pound note to Felixstowe. "You'll have to hurry."

Lady Mary smiled at him sweetly and abandoned a furtive attempt to
open her bag.

"Do you go to many race meetings, Mr. Pratt?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Very few," he answered. "As a matter of fact, this is my first
Ascot."

She looked at him in surprise.

"Are you an American, then, or Colonial?"

"No, I am English, but it is only during the last year or so that I
have had any time or money to spare for amusements of this sort."

"How interesting!" she murmured a little vaguely. "Now tell me, have
they started? We must watch."

The race was a good one. In the last stretch, Gerrard's Cross came
away and won easily by three lengths. There was a scene of measured
enthusiasm in the little box.

"Your horse has won, my dear," the Marquis informed his daughter,
lowering his glasses. "I congratulate you."

The Marchioness indicated her approval by a more or less genial smile.
Lady Mary's blue eyes danced with pleasure.

"You dear person, Mr. Pratt!" she exclaimed. "This is my first winner,
and I did want one so badly. I wonder what price Jack will get."

The young man returned presently with a bundle of notes in his hand.

"Nines I got," he announced. "Here's your fiver, Jacob. Forty-five of
the best for you, Mary. Lucky old dear!"

The girl grasped the notes joyfully.

"But surely these aren't all mine? I said one pound. Some of this must
belong to Mr. Pratt?"

Jacob shook his head, interrupting Felixstowe's reluctant
confirmation.

"Not at all," he protested politely. "As a matter of fact, I have won
a great deal of money myself on the race. I gave your brother a
five-pound note because I could not find a smaller one. So much the
better for you."

The girl gave a little sigh of content. Jacob, turning around, was
suddenly aware of a look of relief on the part of her distinguished
father and mother. The latter smiled approvingly at Jacob, who was
preparing to take his leave.

"You must come and call some afternoon, Mr. Pratt," she said
graciously. "We shall be glad to see you in Belgrave Square."

"I shall be very pleased," Jacob replied.

"And thank you," Lady Mary whispered.

Jacob had made his farewells; he had almost reached the door.
Felixstowe, leaning towards his mother, whispered behind his hand,
"Millionaire! Rolling in it!"

The Marchioness w