the bidding. The Mayfly filly passed under the hammer at seven hundred
and fifty guineas. He was turning away vexed when the slow voice of
Monsieur Profond said in his ear:

"Well, I've bought that small filly, but I don't want her; you take her
and give her to your wife."

Val looked at the fellow with renewed suspicion, but the good humour in
his eyes was such that he really could not take offence.

"I made a small lot of money in the War," began Monsieur Profond in
answer to that look. "I 'ad armament shares. I like to give it away. I'm
always makin' money. I want very small lot myself. I like my friends to
'ave it."

"I'll buy her of you at the price you gave," said Val with sudden
resolution.

"No," said Monsieur Profond. "You take her. I don' want her."

"Hang it! one doesn't--"

"Why not?" smiled Monsieur Profond. "I'm a friend of your family."

"Seven hundred and fifty guineas is not a box of cigars," said Val
impatiently.

"All right; you keep her for me till I want her, and do what you like
with her."