“I’m glad you did,” she said gently, “awfully glad. And now I’ll tell
you a secret. The Athalia Stakes have been won.”
“_Won!_”
“Won. Listen. The result was a dead heat.”
Fairfax started.
“But you said he hadn’t spoken.”
“I know. Never mind. He has. And you’ve dead-heated—you and . . . the
man I love.”
Punch put a hand to his head.
“Well, here’s a go,” he said. “What do we do now? You can’t marry us
both.”
With a half-laugh, half-sob, Athalia slid her arms round his neck.
“Yes, I can, my darling. You see, you’re both called Punch.”