There was a reserved
place near the grand stand for my aunt's carriage, and presently
various acquaintances with tickets stuck on their hats came up and
congratulated her upon the promising appearance of Naughty Boy. One of
the greatest horsebreeders said to her that the horse was a splendid
animal, though not sufficiently trained; but as the turf was soft from
yesterday's rain, a strong animal like Naughty Boy stood a fair chance
of coming in a winner.
It seemed to me that he spoke a little ironically, which made me feel
uneasy. Naughty Boy's defeat would spoil the day for my aunt, and
indirectly for me, too, as her bad humor would damp our pleasure. In
the mean while I looked around me at the field, and searched for known
faces. The race course was thronged with people. The grand stand
looked like a dark, compact mass, relieved by bright female toilets.
The course was surrounded by rows after rows of spectators; even the
town walls were alive with them. On either side of the grand stand
stood a long line of carriages; each separately looked like a
flower-basket. Not very far from where I stood I became suddenly aware
of a pink face and aggressive little nose that could not belong to
anybody but Pani Sniatynska. I went up to her and she told me her
husband had just left her to look for Miss Hilst; and then, almost in
one breath, asked me how my aunt was, whether Aniela was at the races,
how the ladies would manage their journey to Gastein since Pani Celina
could not walk, whether I thought Naughty Boy would win the race, and
what we would do if he lost, and how many people had I invited to
dinner.
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