"Good afternoon, Miss Porter--how are you, Porter? May I sit here with
you and see Lucretia win?"
"Come in, come in!" answered Porter, frankly.
"I was sitting with some friends higher up in the stand, when I saw you
here, and thought I'd like to make one of the victorious party."
Allis knew who the friends were; the clinging touch of stephanotis had
come with him. The discrepancy in Crane's sentiments jarred on Allis.
That other day this woman had been his trainer's sister, recognized for
politic purposes; to-day he had been sitting with "friends."
Topping the rail in the distance, just where the course kinked a little
to the left, Allis could see the blur of many colored silks in the
sunlight. Then it seemed to flatten down almost level with the rail, as
the horses broadened out to the earth in racing spread and the riders
clung low to the galloping colts, for they had started.
"There they come," said Crane. "What's in the lead, Porter?" Porter did
not answer. A man could have counted thirty before he said, "The
Dutchman's out in front--a length, and they're coming down the hill like
mad."
Allis felt her heart sink. Was it to be the same old story--was there
always to be something in front of Lucretia?
"Where is your mare?" Crane asked.
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