FullReads

She was angry at herself and him. Where had her careless society manner and well-bred composure gone? She felt weak and hysterical. What if she should burst into tears before the whole crowd–before those coldly critical grey eyes? She almost hated him.

“No–why should it? I have found it very pleasant–and I have been well–very well. And you?”

He jotted down the score carefully before he replied.

“I? Oh, a book-worm and recluse always leads a placid life. I never cared for excitement, you know. I came down here to attend a sale of some rare editions, and a well-meaning friend dragged me out to see the races. I find it rather interesting, I must confess, much more so than I should have fancied. Sorry I can’t stay until the end. I must go as soon as the free-for-all is over, if not before. I have backed ‘Mascot’; you?”

“‘Lu-Lu'” she answered quickly–it almost seemed defiantly. How horribly unreal it was–this carrying on of small talk, as if they were the merest of chance-met acquaintances! “She belongs to a friend of mine, so I am naturally interested.”

“She and ‘Mascot’ are ties now–both have won two heats. One more for either will decide it. This is a good day for the races. Excuse me.”

He leaned over and brushed a scrap of paper from her grey cloak. She shivered slightly.

“You are cold! This stand is draughty.”

“I am not at all cold, thank you. What race is this?–oh! the three-minute one.”

She bent forward with assumed interest to watch the scoring. She was breathing heavily. There were tears in her eyes–she bit her lips savagely and glared at the track until they were gone.

Presently he spoke again, in the low, even tone demanded by circumstances.

“This is a curious meeting, is it not?–quite a flavor of romance! By-the-way, do you read as many novels as ever?”

She fancied there was mockery in his tone. She remembered how very frivolous he used to consider her novel-reading. Besides, she resented the personal tinge. What right had he?

“Almost as many,” she answered carelessly.

“I was very intolerant, wasn’t I?” he said after a pause. “You thought so–you were right. You have been happier since you–left me?”

“Yes,” she said defiantly, looking straight into his eyes.

“And you do not regret it?”

He bent down a little. His sleeve brushed against her shoulder. Something in his face arrested the answer she meant to make.

“I–I–did not say that,” she murmured faintly.

There was a burst of cheering. The free-for-all horses were being brought out for the sixth heat. She turned away to watch them. The scoring began, and seemed likely to have no end. She was tired of it all. It didn’t matter a pin to her whether “Lu-Lu” or “Mascot” won. What did matter! Had Vanity Fair after all been a satisfying exchange for love? He had loved her once, and they had been happy at first. She had never before said, even in her own heart: “I am sorry,” but–suddenly, she felt his hand on her shoulder, and looked up. Their eyes met. He stooped and said almost in a whisper:

“Will you come back to me?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered breathlessly, as one half-fascinated.

“We were both to blame–but I the most. I was too hard on you–I ought to have made more allowance. We are wiser now both of us. Come back to me–my wife.”

His tone was cold and his face expressionless. It was on her lips to cry out “No,” passionately.

But the slender, scholarly hand on her shoulder was trembling with the intensity of his repressed emotion. He did care, then. A wild caprice flashed into her brain. She sprang up.

“See,” she cried, “they’re off now. This heat will probably decide the race. If ‘Lu-Lu’ wins I will not go back to you, if ‘Mascot’ does I will. That is my decision.”

He turned paler, but bowed in assent. He knew by bitter experience how unchangeable her whims were, how obstinately she clung to even the most absurd.

She leaned forward breathlessly. The crowd hung silently on the track. “Lu-Lu” and “Mascot” were neck and neck, getting in splendid work. Half-way round the course “Lu-Lu” forged half a neck ahead, and her backers went mad. But one woman dropped her head in her hands and dared look no more. One man with white face and set lips watched the track unswervingly.

Again “Mascot” crawled up, inch by inch. They were on the home stretch, they were equal, the cheering broke out, then silence, then another terrific burst, shouts, yells and clappings–“Mascot” had won the free-for-all. In the front row a woman stood up, swayed and shaken as a leaf in the wind. She straightened her scarlet hat and readjusted her veil unsteadily. There was a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes. No one noticed her. A man beside her drew her hand through his arm in a quiet proprietary fashion. They left the grand stand together.