met him, she thought,
at Lord Edenbury's but he corrected her by saying it was at the Duke
of Clifton's,--a difference of testimony at which Broughton laughed
heartily, saying, in his usual rough way, "Well, it is pretty clear you
didn't make much impression on each other."

The Russian noble was a stranger to the turf. In the details of
arranging the approaching race, in apportioning the weights and ages
and distances, Broughton passed his whole mornings for a month, sorely
puzzled at times by the apathy of his Northern friend, who actually
never obtruded an opinion, or expressed a wish for information on the
subject.

Sir Dudley's book was a very heavy one too. What "he stood to win" was a
profound secret; but knowing men said that if he lost, it would be such
a "squeeze" as had not been known at Newmarket since the Duke of York's
day.

Such an event, however, seemed not to enter into his own calculations;
and so confident was he of success that he could not help sharing his
good fortune with his friend Radchoffsky, and giving him something in
his own book. The count professed himself everlastingly grateful, but
confessed that he knew nothing of racing matters, and that, above all,
his Majesty the Emperor would be excessively annoyed if a representative
of his in any way interfered with the race; in fact, the honor of the
Czar would be tarnished by such a proceeding. Against such reasonings
there could be no opposition; and Broughton only took to himself all the
benefits he had destined for his friend.

At last the eventful day came; and although Sir Dudley had arranged that
Lady Broughton should accompany him to the course, she was taken with
some kind of nervous attack that prevented her leaving her bed. Her
husband was provoked at this ill-timed illness, for he was still vain
of her appearance in public; but knowing that he could do nothing for
hysterics, he sent for Doctor Barham, and then with all speed he started
for the race.

Among the friends who were to go along with him, the count had promised
to make one; but despatches--that admirable excuse of diplomatists, from
the great secretary to the humblest unpaid attache--despatches had
just arrived; and if he could manage to get through his business early
enough, "he'd certainly follow."

Scarcely had Sir Dudley reached the ground when a carriage drove up to
the stand, and a gentleman descended in all haste. It was Mr. Taperton,
his solicitor,--his trus