about five o’clock
It would make no difference to me , in spite of my father 's wager ; I wanted the race over , and then , whether Boatman were first or last , Boatman 's rider was my sweetheart in the face of all the world , no matter what my father or Dick Stanton should say . Dick Stanton was there , a regular bush dandy , for he was going to ride his own horse , but I would not look at him , though he came over and wished me `` Good morning '' as if we were the best of friends , and I hated him for it , and I know now my hatred was well founded , for if it had not been for him , I should have been a happy woman this day . How slowly the morning wore on . It seemed to me it must be somewhere about five o'clock , when there was a stir and a bustle , and the clock struck twelve , and they were preparing for the `` Telowie Handicap . '' I know nothing whatever about that race , though I watched it from the best vantage point on the course , our own verandah . My eyes were too dim to see it , though I heard quite plainly the hoarse roar of the people as the favourite passed the post just a length ahead , and I knew that Paul by my side was shouting with the rest . I was thinking all the time that the next race I should be standing there alone , while my lover was riding the worst-tempered , most unmanageable brute in the colony .