nd closely contested the whole way from the distance in. I
felt my blood creeping quite chill, and I could perfectly understand
then the infatuation men cherish about racing, and why they ruin their
wives and children at that pursuit. What a relief it was when the
number was up, and I could be quite satisfied that the dear bay horse
had won. As for the little jockey that rode him, I could and _would_
have kissed him! Just then Cousin John came back to me, with his
sunny, laughing face, and I naturally asked him, "Had he won his
money?" John never bets; but he replied, "I'm just as pleased as if
I'd won a fortune; only think, Frank Lovell has landed twelve
hundred!" "Well," I replied, "I am glad of it--which is very good of
me, seeing that I don't know Mr. Lovell." "Don't know Frank Lovell!"
exclaimed John. "The greatest friend I have in the world." (Men's
friends always are the greatest in the world.) "I'll introduce him to
you; there he is--no he isn't. I saw him a moment ago." And forthwith
John launched into a long biography of his friend Frank Lovell--how
that gentleman was the nicest fellow and the finest rider and the best
shot in the universe; how he knew more about racing than any man of
his age, and had been in more difficulties, and got out of them
better, and robbed the public generally with a more plausible air; how
he sang a capital song, and was the pleasantest company, and had more
brains than the world gave him credit for (as indeed might easily be
the case); how he was very good-looking, and very agreeable, and met
with great success (whatever that means) in society; how Lady
Scapegrace was avowedly in love with him; and he had thrown over
pretty Miss Pinnifer because he wouldn't leave the army, and six
months afterwards was obliged to sell his commission, when Outsider
won the "Two Thousand;" together with various other details, which
lasted till it was time to have luncheon, and go back to Windsor to
catch the four o'clock train. Though evidently such a hero of John's,
I confess I didn't like what I heard of Frank Lovell at all.

CHAPTER II.

We've got such a sweet little house in Lowndes Street--to my mind the
very best situation in London. When I say _we_, of course I mean Aunt
Deborah and myself. We live together, as I hope we always shall do, as
Aunt Deborah says, till "one of us is married." And notwithstanding
the difference of our ages we get on as comfortably as any two forlorn
maide