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when she had sat at his bedside in the little front room of the cottage at Tirau. Again she heard herself saying, “I shall put ten pounds on him.” They had been talking of the Grand National then. No matter! She would back him for the same sum today!

But as her thoughts traveled back to that bygone moment, her heart knew a pang of anguish! She could see again the handsome head on the pillows, the vista of sunshine lying on the neglected garden outside the open window—the wide, sun-dried paddocks stretching out beyond. Oh, happy days! And they were gone! The half-glimpsed dream, and glamour of first love was never to be realized! Fool! to allow herself this backward sentimental glance. It had all meant less than nothing. But she did not mention to any one the amount she intended to invest on Marsh’s horse; and she would not allow any one else to put the money on for her. She took her place in the queue waiting at the narrow entrance to the booking office of the totalisator, and secured her tickets. Then she rejoined Kent and Nell Brunton, and made her way back to the stand to watch the race.

“Marsh stands to win or lose a good deal over this event,” said Kent, as they walked across the lawn. “He’s not only backing his horse on the machine, but with the bookies as well.”

“I thought bookmakers weren’t allowed in New Zealand,” said Ann.

Kent laughed.

“They’re as illegal as whisky dealers in U.S.A. during Prohibition but they’re just as numerous, and do just as big a business.”

“Funny to find Rodney Marsh going to people’s