riders go by--one with bright red braces, one in a blue cotton coat,
two middle-aged men in their best bowlers, and one, obviously too well
mounted for the rest, in correct riding-dress. They came round each
time in the same order--the correct one, red braces, blue coat, and the
bowlers last. Evidently the foremost one knew he could easily win, and
the others had decided that 'it was to be.' In the machine-like
regularity of their advent, their unaltered positions, and leisured
pace, they were like hobby-horses.

'How many times have they bin round?' Hazel asked the waitress, who
poured tea and made conversation in a sociable manner.

'It'll be the seventh. They might as well give over. They're only
labouring to stay in the same place.'

'I want to see 'em come in,' said Hazel. They went out, but Abel
waylaid them, and took Edward off to show him a queen bee in a box
from Italy. Edward loathed bees in or out of boxes, but he was too
kind-hearted to refuse. Abel was so unperceptive that he touched pathos.

Hazel found a place some distance down the course where she could look
along the straight to the winning-post; she loved to hear them thunder
past. She leaned over the rail and watched them come, still fatalistic,
but gallant, bent on a dramatic finish, stooping and 'cutting' their
horses. The first man was on her side of the course. She stared at him
in amazed consternation as he came towards her. His strong blue eyes,
caught by the fixity of her glance or by her bright hair, saw her, and
became triumphant. He pulled the horse in sharply, and within a few
yards of the winning-post wheeled and went back, amid the jeers and
howls of the crowd, who thought he must be drunk.