'I shall differ from you; there are no two opinions about it. I shall
differ from you!'

Behind them stood Mrs. Bellew. Her eyes could not keep still under their
lashes, and their light and colour changed continually. George walked on
slowly at her side. There was a look of triumph and softness about her;
the colour kept deepening in her cheeks, her figure swayed. They did not
look at each other.

Against the Paddock railings stood a man in riding-clothes, of spare
figure, with a horseman's square, high shoulders, and thin long legs a
trifle bowed. His narrow, thin-lipped, freckled face, with close-cropped
sandy hair and clipped red moustache, was of a strange dead pallor.
He followed the figures of George and his companion with little fiery
dark-brown eyes, in which devils seemed to dance. Someone tapped him on
the arm.

"Hallo, Bellew! had a good race?"

"Devil take you, no! Come and have a drink?"

Still without looking at each other, George and Mrs. Bellew walked
towards the gate.

"I don't want to see any more," she said. "I should like to get away at
once."

"We'll go after this race," said George. "There's nothing running in the
last."