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“I’ve never talked to her like I talk to you,” replied Marsh shortly.

Ann was silent. She began to think that by her unfortunate observation she had lost the precious secret, and she was tremendously anxious to hear it. Something to do with racing it must be. Ann had been thrilled by the steeplechase. Any further racing news was of great importance.

“Nigger’s to race in Wairiri in the autumn. A trainer I know is going in with me, and we’re entering him for the Grand National,” said Marsh impressively. “And what’s more he’s going to win it.”

The Grand National! That was the great race Dick Holmes had mentioned, when laughing at Nigger’s chances at Omoana. Well, if Rodney thought his horse could win, he’d probably do so. Rodney had been right at Omoana. He’d prove himself right again. Ann had perfect faith in him.

“Everybody’ll call me no end of a fool,” said Rodney. “They’ll talk about his age—say he’ll crack up in training. But I know what the horse can do. They said he won the steeplechase by a fluke, and because he had nothing good against him. I know better. He was winning all the way. I could have won by fifteen lengths if I’d wanted to.”

Ann accepted all this. To her it wasn’t boasting. It was a plain statement of fact. Rodney knew about such things. She felt enormously flattered that he should trust her with this secret.

“I shall put ten pounds on him,” she announced.

Rodney laughed.

“You’re a real good sport. I knew you were when you backed him at Omoana.”

They talked on for some time quite contentedly.