she aroused
to look up at him eagerly.

"Uncle," she faltered.

Disregarding or unseeing her outstretched hand, he went on and left
her there alone. And then Emily dared rescue the newspaper.

"A substitute," she whispered. "A substitute," and laid her wet cheek
against the pictured driver.

No one lunched at the Ffrench home that day, except the servants. Near
three o'clock in the afternoon Mr. Ffrench came back to the pavilion
where Emily still sat.

"Go change your gown," he commanded, in his usual tone. "We will start
now. I have sent for Bailey and ordered Anderson to bring the
automobile."

"Start?" she wondered, bewildered.

He met her gaze with a stately repellence of comment.

"For the Beach. I understand this race lasts twenty-four hours. Have
you any objection?"

Objection to being near David! Emily sprang to her feet.

VIII

Six o'clock was the hour set for the start of the Beach race. And it
was just seventeen minutes past five when Dick Ffrench, hanging in a
frenzy of anxiety over the paddock fence circling the inside of the
mile oval, uttered something resembling a howl and rushed to the gate
to signal his recreant driver. From the opposite side of the track
Lestrange waved gay return, making his way through the officials and
friends who pressed around him to shake hands or slap his shoulder
caressingly, jesting and questioning, calling directions and advice. A
brass band played noisily in the grand-stand, where the crowd heaved
and surged; the racing machines were roaring in their camps.

"What's the matter? Where were you?" cried Dick, when at last
Lestrange crossed the course to the central field. "The cars are going
out now for the preliminary run. Rupert's nearly crazy, snarling at
everybody, and the other man has been getting ready to start instead
of you."

"Well, he can get unready," smiled Lestrange. "Keep cool, Ffrench;
I've got half an hour and I could start now. I'm ready."

He was ready; clad in the close-fitting khaki costume whose immaculate
daintiness gave no hint of the certainty that before the first six
hours ended it would be a wreck of yellow dust and oil. As he paused
in running an appraising glance down the street-like row of tents,
the white-clothed driver of a spotless white car shot out on his way
to the track, but halted opposite the latest arrival to stretch down a
cordial hand.

"I hoped a trolley-car had bitten you," he shouted. "The rest of us
w