. What do
you think of Snow Bunting?"

"Snow Bunting?" said Odo, with a groan, "there's another of them. Surely,
Snow Bunting has no earthly chance?"

"My housekeeper's nephew, who is a shoeing-smith in the mounted section
of the Church Lads' Brigade, and an authority on horseflesh, expects him
to be among the first three."

"The nephews of housekeepers are invariably optimists," said Bertie;
"it's a kind of natural reaction against the professional pessimism of
their aunts."

"We don't seem to get much further in our search for the probable
winner," said Mrs. de Claux; "the more I listen to you experts the more
hopelessly befogged I get."

"It's all very well to blame us," said Bertie to his hostess; "you
haven't produced anything in the way of an inspiration."

"My inspiration consisted in asking you down for Derby week," retorted
Mrs. de Claux; "I thought you and Odo between you might throw some light
on the question of the moment."

Further recriminations were cut short by the arrival of Lola Pevensey,
who floated into the room with an air of gracious apology.

"So sorry to be so late," she observed, making a rapid tour of inspection
of the breakfast dishes.

"Did you have a good night?" asked her hostess with perfunctory
solicitude.

"Quite, thank you," said Lola; "I dreamt a most remarkable dream."

A flutter, indicative of general boredom; went round the table. Other
people's dreams are about as universally interesting as accounts of other
people's gardens, or chickens, or children.

"I dreamt about the winner of the Derby," said Lola.

A swift reaction of attentive interest set in.

"Do tell us what you dreamt," came in a chorus.

"The really remarkable thing about it is that I've dreamt it two nights
running," said Lola, finally deciding between the allurements of sausages
and kedgeree; "that is why I thought it worth mentioning. You know, when
I dream things two or three nights in succession, it always means
something; I have special powers in that way. For instance, I once
dreamed three times that a winged lion was flying through the sky and one
of his wings dropped off, and he came to the ground with a crash; just
afterwards the Campanile at Venice fell down. The winged lion is the
symbol of Venice, you know," she added for the enlightenment of those who
might not be versed in Italian heraldry. "Then," she continued, "just
before the murder of the King and Queen of Servia I had a vi