so far potent over the young nobleman as to induce him to confine his Derby practices to the Derby-day.  Another guest had also been expected, the reason for whose non-appearance must be explained somewhat at length.  Lord Gerald Palliser, the Duke’s second son, was at this time at Cambridge,—­ being almost as popular at Trinity as his brother had been at Christ Church.  It was to him quite a matter of course that he should see his brother’s horse run for the Derby.  But, unfortunately, in this very year a stand was being made by the University pundits against a practice which they thought had become too general.  For the last year or two, it had been considered almost as much a matter of course that a Cambridge undergraduate should go to the Derby as that a Member of Parliament should do so.  Against this three or four rigid disciplinarians had raised their voices,—­and as a result, no young man up at Trinity could get leave to be away on the Derby pretext.

Lord Gerald raged against the restriction very loudly.  He at first proclaimed his intention of ignoring the college authorities altogether.  Of course he would be expelled.  But the order itself was to his thinking so absurd,—­the idea that he should not see his brother’s horse run was so extravagant,—­that he argued that his father could not be angry with him for incurring dismissal in so excellent a cause.  But his brother saw things in a different light.  He knew how his father had looked at him when he had been sent away from Oxford, and he counselled moderation.  Gerald should see the Derby, but should not encounter that heaviest wrath of all which comes from a man’s not sleeping beneath his college roof.  There was a train which left Cambridge at an early hour, and would bring him into London in time to accompany his friends to the racecourse;—­and another train, a special, which would take him down after dinner, so that he and others should reach Cambridge before the college gates were shut.

The dinner at the Beargarden was very joyous.  Of course the state of the betting in regard to Prime Minister was the subject generally popular for the night.  Mr Lupton came in, a gentleman well known in all fashionable circles, parliamentary, social, and racing, who was rather older than the company on this occasion, but still not so much so as to be found to be an incumbrance.  Lord Glasslough too, and others joined them, and a good deal was said about the horse.  ‘I never kept these things dark,’ said Tifto.  ‘Of course he is an uncertain horse.’

‘Most horses are,’ said Lupton.

’Just so, Mr Lupton.  What I mean is, the Minister has got a bit of a temper.  But if he likes to do his best I don’t think any three-year-old in England can get his nose past him.’

‘For half a mile he’d be nowhere with the Provence filly,’ said Glasslough.

‘I’m speaking of a Derby distance, my Lord.’

‘That’s a kind of thing nobody really knows,’ said Lupton.