Fitz
in vain. Those of her friends who had only seen the mare in the
catalogue sent dealers to buy her, and those who had seen her in the
flesh--or what was left of it--sent amateurs; but all, dealers and the
greenest of amateurs alike, entirely declined to think of buying her.

The weather was perfect; every one declared there never was a better
show, and Fanny Fitz, in her newest and least-paid-for clothes, looked
brilliantly successful, and declared to Mr. Rupert Gunning that nothing
made a show so interesting as having something up for it. She even
encouraged him to his accustomed jibes at her Connemara speculation, and
personally conducted him to stall No. 548, and made merry over its
melancholy occupant in a way that scandalised Patsey, and convinced Mrs.
Spicer that Fanny's pocket was even harder hit than she had feared.

On the second day, however, things looked a little more hopeful.

"She ate her grub last night and this morning middlin' well, miss," said
Patsey, "and"--here he looked round stealthily and began to
whisper--"when I had her in the ring, exercisin', this morning, there
was one that called me in to the rails; like a dealer he was. 'Hi! grey
mare!' says he. I went in. 'What's your price?' says he. 'Sixty guineas,
sir,' says I. 'Begin at the shillings and leave out the pounds!' says
he. He went away then, but I think he's not done with me."

"I'm sure the ring is our best chance, Patsey," said Fanny, her voice
thrilling with the ardour of conspiracy and of reawakened hope. "She
doesn't look so thin when she's moving. I'll go and stand by the rails,
and I'll call you in now and then just to make people look at her!"

"Sure I had Masther Freddy doing that to me yestherday," said Patsey;
but hope dies hard in an Irishman, and he saddled up with all speed.

For two long burning hours did the Connemara filly circle in Ring 3, and
during all that time not once did her owner's ears hear the longed-for
summons, "Hi! grey mare!" It seemed to her that every other horse in the
ring was called in to the rails, "and she doesn't look so very thin
to-day!" said Fanny indignantly to Captain Spicer, who, with Mr.
Gunning, had come to take her away for lunch.

"Oh, you'll see, you'll sell her on the last day; she's getting fitter
every minute," responded Captain Spicer. "What would you take for her?"

"I'm asking sixty," said Fanny dubiously. "What would _you_ take for
her, Mr. Gunning--on the last day, you k