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“I’ll probably see you on the course,” said Ann at last.

“I don’t expect so. You’ll be with a different crowd to me.”

She had no reply to make to that, and she couldn’t stay here much longer. She might be keeping the Ralstons waiting.

After another moment she said good-by, and crossed over to the Imperial Hotel.

On the racecourse Ann was enjoying something of a succès fou. Her prettiness and gayety were attractive to men and women alike. But with the latter—who were for the most part very warm-hearted and hospitable to strangers—the novelty of her enterprise, and the authoritative position she now held in Wairiri as the supreme arbiter of fashion, created an added interest. Though quite unaware of it herself, Ann had charm. Not only the charm of an attractive appearance, but the charm of an un-self-centered nature. She was neither gushing, nor shy, but perfectly natural, and quite frankly interested in her fellow creatures.

The Wairiri Turf Club Meeting, Ann found, was very much like the first one she had attended, but bigger, gayer, and more sophisticated. A brass band played on the green turf of the lawn amongst the flower beds; the dresses in the grand stand were decidedly more elaborate than those worn at Omoana; the totalisator was much larger; and the entries for the races more numerous. But, as at Omoana, luncheon was a huge picnic shared by the visitors from the