Rada paled as she listened. "He is not in danger?" she asked eagerly; then, reassured by Pierce's smile, she drew her breath in sharply. "Of course you wouldn't be here if he was. But how brave of him: he saved the child's life?"
"Yes, he saved the child's life," repeated Pierce. "He fell from his own momentum when he had got back upon the kerb. It was just outside David Isaacson's house, and they carried him inside and made him as comfortable as they could. He's there now; he'll be well in a week or so, but, of course, it was all up with the Derby. Poor chap, he won't see one of the finest races that we have been promised for years. His own horse, too, pitted against yours, Miss Armitage."
The girl said little, but the colour returned only slowly to her cheeks. A sense of faintness had come upon her when she had learnt of Mostyn's accident, and this had revealed to her, more forcibly than ever, how much she really cared.
She did care. What was the use of attempting to deceive herself? That day when Mostyn's lips had met hers she had learnt that she loved—yes, though she had torn herself away crying aloud that she hated him. Then he had gone away, and she had eagerly desired him to return. She had written to him, and, like a foolish man, he had taken her letter far more literally than she had intended it. She had expressed her desire to be friends, and had hinted her approval of Jack Treves because he had promised not to "bother" her with love-making that year. She would have broken with Jack, ready to defy him and her father, if Mostyn had spoken again, if he had shown any desire to be more than just the friend he now professed to be. She had given him plenty of hints—or thought she had—but Mostyn had been too blind to see them. So poor Rada had concluded that he did not care any more; that, if he had ever cared, the love he bore her had been killed, perhaps by her own folly.
There was a time when she had seen her way to paying off her debts, and her father's debts, to Jack Treves. Castor had done so well, and promised to do better in the future. But in the meanwhile fresh debts were incurred, so that, indeed, when she had opened her heart to Mostyn in the paddock at Newmarket, it was true that she was more closely bound to Jack than before. And yet she could not help thinking that the latter had grown tired of her—no wonder, perhaps, since she treated him with scant ceremony—and, as for herself, how sick and tired she had grown of a bond that galled and vexed her! She had come to hate Jack Treves: yet what did it matter what became of her since Mostyn had ceased to care?
"It's hard luck, isn't it," Pierce was saying, "but, after all, Mostyn is in good hands and will be quite all right. I'd have stayed behind with him, but he insisted that I must go to look after you. My wife is with Mostyn"—he lowered his voice—"and his father is with him, too," he continued. "You know that they have been on bad terms for the last year, and they have just been reconciled. Mostyn did something for his father, something that I can't tell you about, and which has saved old Mr. Clithero from a very awkward position. And now"—Pierce smiled—"the old man is at his son's bedside, in the house of a man whom he professed to loath and despise; and I verily believe that he, to whom racing has always been the devil's work, is as anxious as Mostyn himself for Pollux to pull off the Derby."
"Pollux won't," said Rada, with something of her old spirit. Whatever she might be feeling, her pride was in arms against anyone, and especially Pierce, guessing her secret. "I think it is mean of Mostyn to wish to beat me," she continued, her cheeks flushing now. "If he was so keen on carrying out his word he might have tried for the Derby next June. He gave himself five years. Besides, the whole thing was so silly; no one has taken it seriously but he."
Pierce noted the girl's flushed cheeks and he read the truth of her love in her eyes. He understood what she must feel, and how heartless Mostyn's conduct must seem to her, since she knew nothing of the will and of the incalculable importance it was for him that Pollux should win the race. Was it not for her sake, too, that Mostyn was depending upon Pollux? But she did not know—she could not know.
How he longed to explain! Could he not give her a hint? But he quickly found himself involved in totally unexpected difficulties.
"Don't be hard upon Mostyn, Miss Armitage," he ventured. "Really, I assure you, he hasn't done this out of ill-will to you. If only I could get you to feel that! Nor is it that silly wager which makes him so keen upon winning the Derby. It may look to you like spite, but believe me—try to believe me—it's quite the reverse." Poor Pierce stammered painfully. He wanted to do the right thing both by his friend and by Rada. He could see that the latter had been deeply wounded in her affection, and he felt that if by chance Pollux should win the race she might be too deeply offended with Mostyn to listen to any explanation. And yet it was for her as much as for his millions that Mostyn was fighting.