"Is she earning her living too?" asked Kitty softly, and Crozier did not
notice the irony under the question.

"She has a home of her own," answered Crozier almost sharply. "Just
before the worst came to the worst she inherited her fortune--plenty of
it, as I got near the end of mine. One thing after another had gone.
I was mortgaged up to the eyes. I knew the money-lenders from Newry to
Jewry and Jewry to Jerusalem. Then it was I promised her I'd bet no
more--never again: I'd give up the turf; I'd try and start again. Down
in my soul I knew I couldn't start again--not just then. But I wanted
to please her. She was remarkable in her way; she had one of the most
imposing intelligences I have ever known. So I promised. I promised
I'd bet no more."

The Young Doctor caught Kitty Tynan's eyes by accident, and there was the
same look of understanding in both. They both knew that here was the
real tragedy of Crozier's life. If he had had less reverence for his
wife, less of that obvious prostration of soul, he probably would never
have come to Askatoon.

"I broke my promise," he murmured. "It was a horse--well, never mind.
I was as sure of Flamingo as that the sun would rise by day and set by
night. It was a certainty; and it was a certainty. The horse could win,
it would win; I had it from a sure source. My judgment was right, too.
I bet heavily on Flamingo, intending it for my last fling, and, to save
what I had left, to get back what I had lost. I could get big odds on
him. It was good enough. From what I knew, it was like picking up a
gold-mine. And I was right, right as could be. There was no chance
about it. It was being out where the rain fell to get wet. It was just
being present when they called the roll of the good people that God