"You seem to be on Mr. Wickliffe's side--I
wonder will you back his judgment?"

"Maybe so," Allys said, without turning her head. "That is, if you
care to make it anything worth while. I'm not quite sure which I'd
like best--a winter in Paris or a pearl necklace--and I know I shan't
ever get them at bridge--I have no luck at all."

"Give you millions against--just one word," Hilary whispered; then
aloud: "Is it a bet?"

"Say yes, Miss Allys," Billy entreated. "You ain't trustin' to my
judgment--remember that--but to the blood of Blink Bonny."

"I take you up," Allys said, nodding to Hilary. As well this way as
any other, she thought--besides, she could hold him off as long as she
chose. Her father would stand by her loyally--he was in no haste to
see her established. Besides, this was what she had always craved--to
watch a race with a heartrending wager on its event.

"Here they come!" Billy shouted, dropping his glass, and flinging up
his head.

Up course the rainbow line had at last held steady, then, as the tape
flew up, bellied out like a sail in gusty wind, and been rent into
flecks and tatters. The lightweights, of course, were in the foremost
of the flecks and tatters--all, that is, save the Heathflower thing,
who came absolutely last. Tim's orange jacket and scarlet sash were
dust-dimmed by the time he came to the stand. But right in front of
him were Aldegonde's tiger stripes, black and yellow, and the blue and
white in the saddle of Aramis.

"Last all the way--eh, Miss Allys?" Adair said, leaning across Billy,
who would have given back but that Allys clung to him in silence, her
eyes glued to the glass, flushing and paling, her breath coming
quicker even thus early in the race.

There were open lengths all along--the lightweights were bent on
making it a runaway race. Billy knew they could never do it. A
horseman born and made, he marked their stride, and understood even
better than their jockeys how much the killing pace was taking out of
them. It did not astonish him that in the outstretch, before a mile
had been run, three of the first flight chucked it up, falling back,
back, till even the Heathflower thing showed them her heels. At the
mile there were more counterfeits proven--as the race swept down upon
the stand the second time there were but seven of the original
contenders really in it. The rest were tailing hopelessly. One or two
even pulled up. But the Heathflower thing was among the seve