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'Jane, said Peter's voice, 'I wish you would wake up and come down. Toffy's had a horrid smash. He says he 's all right, and he won't go to the doctor, but his hand is badly cut and he has had a nasty knock on his head.
Their two stirrups clanged together as their horses rose to the rails and galloped on to the last fence. And there, of course, Toffy's horse fell. It was not his fault; there was a bit of soft ground just where he landed, his horse blundered and fell, and the favourite rode past the winning-post, an easy winner.
It became a race between these two, and it was evident that the finish was going to be a close one. 'Toffy's not fit to ride, said the voice of a young man who would have liked Toffy to win the race, although he knew better than to back him. 'He is as mad as ten hatters to have ridden to-day.
It was going to be a close finish, most people thought, and as the horses came round the farther corner you could, as the saying goes, have spread a tablecloth over them. Toffy's horse closely hugged the rails and was kept well in hand; while, of the two in front of him, one was showing signs of the pace and the other had not much running left in him.
'He says so, and the motor is to be run on the strictest lines of economy. I am not sure that he is not going to water the petrol to make it go farther. 'I don't quite see Toffy steering anything, said Jane, laughing with great enjoyment at the recollection of Toffy's mad riding; 'he can never take his horse through a gate without scraping his leg against it.
It seems almost as though we must be under a spell which prevents the communication which we long for, and as though almost any day we may wake up to find how unreal the separation is, Kitty buried her face in the pillow and called Toffy's name, and who knows? perhaps he heard her. Sometimes I think Mrs.
'I can't think why, she said severely, 'you should call a young man Toffy. It is a name I should hardly liked to have called a dog when I was a girl. Peter raised his fair eyebrows and looked distressed. 'I don't see what else you could call a man named Christopherson, he said. 'You couldn't call him Nigel that's Toffy's front name and I 'm afraid he hasn't got any other.
Long ago, when he was little more than a boy, he had met Horace Avory and his wife in an out-of-the-way fishing village in Wales. Avory's treatment of the small timid woman had roused pity and resentment in Toffy's mind.
'Why should they sit together under the cedar tree like that unless they are making love? She stepped out on to the lawn with a garden-hat placed above her cap and a sun-umbrella held over her head. 'Aunt Mary, said Jane, 'Toffy's got a new motor! Isn't it fearfully exciting!
He loved to remember her in a hundred different ways in white satin, with a string of pearls about her neck; at meets, on one of her sixteen-hand hunters; playing golf; painting the rabbit-hutch in the garden; binding up Toffy's hand that morning, ages ago, when he had had a spill out of his motor-car; playing with the school-children on the lawn; or, best of all, perhaps, dancing in the great ballroom at Bowshott, and sitting with him afterwards in the dimness of his mother's tapestried chamber, her great white feather fan laid upon her knees.
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