“I didn’t lose him,” retorted Helen, still watching Patches.  “He lost me.”

Kitty persisted with a playful mockery.  “What! the great, the wonderful Knight of so many millions, failed, with all his glittering charms, to captivate the fair but simple Helen!  Really, I can’t believe it.”

“Look at that man right there,” flashed Helen proudly, indicating her husband, “and you can believe it.”

Kitty laughed so gaily that Stanford turned to look at them with smiling inquiry.

“Never mind, Mr. Manning,” said Kitty, “we are just reminiscing, that’s all.”

“Don’t miss the race,” he answered; “they’re getting ready again to start.  It looks like a go this time.”

“And to think,” murmured Kitty, “that I never so much as saw your Knight’s picture!  But you used to like Lawrence Knight, didn’t you, Helen?” she added, as Helen lifted her field glasses again.  And now, Mrs. Manning caught a note of earnest inquiry in her companion’s voice.  It was as though the girl were seeking confirmation of some purpose or decision of her own.

“Why, yes, Kitty, I liked Larry Knight very much,” she answered frankly.  “He was a fine fellow in many ways—­a dear, good friend.  Stanford and I are both very fond of him; they were college mates, you know.  But, my dear girl, no one could ever consider poor old Larry seriously—­as a man, you know—­he is so—­so utterly and hopelessly worthless.”

“Worthless!  With—­how many millions is it?”

“Oh, Kitty, you know what I mean.  But, really dear, we have talked enough about Mr. Lawrence Knight.  I’m going to have another look at the cowboy. He looks like a real man, doesn’t he?  What is it the Dean called him?”

“Patches.”

“Oh, yes; what a funny name—­Patches.”

“Honorable Patches,” said Kitty.

“How odd!” mused Helen.  “Oh, Stan, come here a minute.  Take the glasses and look at that cowboy down there.”

Stanford trained the field glasses as she directed.

“Doesn’t he remind you of Larry Knight?”

“Larry Knight!” Stanford looked at her in amazement.  “That cow-puncher?  Larry Knight?  I should say not.  Lord! but wouldn’t fastidious, cultured and correct old Larry feel complimented to know that you found anything in a common cow-puncher to remind you of him!”

“But, here, take your glasses, quick; they are going to start at last.”

Even as Helen looked, Judge Morris gave the signal and the first racing car, with a mighty roar, leaped away from the starting point, and thundered up the street between the lines of the crowding, cheering people.  An instant more, and Helen Manning witnessed a scene that thrilled the hearts of every man, woman and child in that great crowd.