"No, thank you."

"Do you mind if I do?"

"Not at all." Now, she thought, here is a real gentleman. Sophisticated, rich, dignified, handsome… unobtrusive.

She noticed his hands as he lit the cigarette. Manicured nails, long sensitive fingers, tanned and obviously capable hands… immaculate white French cuffs peering from the sleeves of his navy blue cashmere coat… extraordinarily large wrist watch with two sets of sweep hands. She also noticed the way he peered at her, looking at her as though she were an interesting person – not like a piece of meat being inspected in a butcher shop.

"You're not only young," he said suddenly, "but I have a feeling you're pretty intelligent as well."

Grace blushed, feeling momentarily a loss of words. Then she replied in light banter, "Thank you, kind sir. But how could you tell if I'm intelligent… or stupid?"

"Well, for one thing, there's a lot of intelligence in your eyes. Another thing – which furthered my conviction – was that you're not betting this race. I saw you turn down several offers. Now that's what I call smart. These are a real bunch of dogs. The race is wide open. Anything can win it. Never bet unless it's a lead pipe cinch."

He seemed so knowledgeable! Grace blurted out before she could stop herself. "You seem to know a lot about it. How come?"

The man laughed, obviously delighted with her question. "I can tell you're not a race fan, and I'll bet you don't read the sports pages, either."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. This is my first time."

"You show even more sense then, in not betting. This isn't a game for amateurs. I ought to know. I own Red Rebel Stables; we're running seventeen horses here at this meet. It took me almost thirty years to learn the game. And even now, I get fooled all the time."

Grace recognized the name "Red Rebel Stables" from an earlier glance at the program. She brightened immediately. "You have a horse in one of the races later this evening?"