"I——" he began hesitatingly, then paused, for Rada interrupted him.
"Would you like to have a bet on it?" she asked mockingly.
Mostyn looked round. He saw Captain Armitage's red face suffused and congested with laughter; he caught a supercilious sneer on the lips of Lord Caldershot. He was boiling over with suppressed rage.
Suddenly he felt a nudge from the elbow of Anthony Royce, who was sitting next to him, and a whisper in his ear.
"Say yes. In ten years."
Mostyn did not understand. The whisper was repeated.
"Bet anything you like you win a Derby in ten years."
The little diversion had passed unnoticed. Rada repeated her mocking question.
Mostyn pulled himself together. He had no time to think, to weigh his words. He did not even realise the import of them. The wrath of his heart dictated his answer.
"I never bet. But all the same I'll undertake to win a Derby within reasonable time: ten years—five years," he added recklessly, in spite of the protesting nudge of Royce's elbow.