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194 They had walked on, not in the direction of the saddling paddock, but among the gum-trees at the back of the Grand Stand, where, the view of the course being obstructed by the building, there was little or no crowd; indeed, except for a few stragglers in care of luncheon carts, the spot was almost deserted. Elsie turned fiercely upon Blake. Her eyes were flashing; her bosom heaving.

"What right have you to say that I was beaten? You said that I—that I cared for you. What reason did I give you for thinking so? Wasn't I playing the game, too? Do you think I have fallen so low as to give my heart to a man who—who has shown me that he despises me. I despise you, Mr. Blake; I hate you."

Blake stood perfectly immovable. "I am glad of that," he said quietly. "I wish you to hate me. But you are quite wrong in the other thing. I do not despise you."

"Why—why?" stammered Elsie. "Why should you wish me to hate you?"

"Because it would not be for your happiness that you should love me."

"And why?" she repeated with the persistency of a child.

"Because," he answered, "I cannot" He stopped and added more calmly, "Because in my scheme of life marriage has no place."

Elsie turned, and they walked a few steps back without speaking.

"You have not given me credit for much cleverness, Mr. Blake," she said. "You evidently don't seem to think that I am able to take a hint. I fancy that you warned me before we—before we challenged each other—against cherishing any false hopes."

The bitterness of her tone hurt Blake keenly.

"Thank you," he said. "It is a wholesome lesson for me to be made to feel that I am a conceited ass."

Again they walked on in silence. They were near the Grand Stand.