"She ate her grub last night and this morning middlin' well, miss," said
Patsey, "and"--here he looked round stealthily and began to
whisper--"when I had her in the ring, exercisin', this morning, there
was one that called me in to the rails; like a dealer he was. 'Hi! grey
mare!' says he. I went in. 'What's your price?' says he. 'Sixty guineas,
sir,' says I. 'Begin at the shillings and leave out the pounds!' says
he. He went away then, but I think he's not done with me."

"I'm sure the ring is our best chance, Patsey," said Fanny, her voice
thrilling with the ardour of conspiracy and of reawakened hope. "She
doesn't look so thin when she's moving. I'll go and stand by the rails,
and I'll call you in now and then just to make people look at her!"

"Sure I had Masther Freddy doing that to me yestherday," said Patsey;
but hope dies hard in an Irishman, and he saddled up with all speed.

For two long burning hours did the Connemara filly circle in Ring 3, and
during all that time not once did her owner's ears hear the longed-for
summons, "Hi! grey mare!" It seemed to her that every other horse in the
ring was called in to the rails, "and she doesn't look so very thin
to-day!" said Fanny indignantly to Captain Spicer, who, with Mr.
Gunning, had come to take her away for lunch.

"Oh, you'll see, you'll sell her on the last day; she's getting fitter
every minute," responded Captain Spicer. "What would you take for her?"

"I'm asking sixty," said Fanny dubiously. "What would _you_ take for
her, Mr. Gunning--on the last day, you know?"

"I'd take a ticket for her," said Rupert Gunning, "back to Craffroe--if