CHAPTER XII.
MOSTYN TELLS HIS LOVE.
"A misunderstanding! Yes, of course, absolutely a misunderstanding." Captain Armitage waved his arm airily, as he expressed this opinion. "I'm sorry that it should have happened, but Rada quite gave me to believe——"
"Yes, of course. I understand you would not have sold Castor to me unless you had concluded that the sale had your daughter's approval." Mostyn spoke quite seriously, though he knew well enough that the old man's excuses were not genuine; but he had no desire to hurl reproaches at the wretched drunkard, who, after all, was Rada's father. Mostyn told himself, with something of that good humour under adverse circumstances which was typical of him, that he ought to have known better at the beginning; that he ought to have judged his man, and that it was his own fault he had been taken in.
The loss of a thousand pounds seemed of little importance to him just then, for he had resources behind him which, to his inexperience, seemed inexhaustible. He was at heart an optimist, and did not doubt, in spite of this reverse, that he would successfully carry out the terms of Anthony Royce's will. Taken altogether, there were a dozen races open to him, and surely, with so much money at his disposition, he would be able to find a winner for one of them.
So it was that in the afternoon of that day, Mostyn had come to Captain Armitage's house, had explained that there had evidently been a mistake over the sale of Castor, and announced his desire to return the horse to Rada, its legitimate proprietor. Since Rada had refused to accept the horse, Mostyn had seen this as the only possible way open to him. He did not for a minute believe that the girl would be able to raise the thousand pounds, and he thought that when her temper subsided and she understood what had been done she would accept the situation without further protest. Mostyn rather plumed himself upon his diplomacy.
Since the sun was shining brightly, Captain Armitage was lolling in a deck-chair which he had placed very near the centre of the wretched little lawn of Barton Mill House, and he had been indulging in a nap when Mostyn had interrupted him. He had not been in the best of humours at first, evidently preparing to meet an attack, anticipating a demand for explanations; but Mostyn had quickly undeceived him, and stated clearly what he intended to do, after which, as well he might, Captain Armitage had subsided into smiles and amiability.
"You want me to take Castor back?" he said. "Very well, very well." There was certainly no pride about Captain Armitage. "A mistake has been made "—he rubbed his bony hands together—"and nobody is to blame; neither you nor Rada, nor I—certainly not I—and you want to put matters straight."
"You are certainly the one who has profited by the mistake," Mostyn could not help saying.
"Ah, my dear young friend"—Armitage puffed at his cigar, another extracted from the expensive box which he had brought back from London, and which had been purchased with Mostyn's money—"somebody must usually profit, and somebody lose by every mistake. In this case it's you who lose, and of course I'm sorry for you. I'd willingly stand my share of the loss; I'd refund—yes, I'd willingly refund you five hundred pounds—only, unfortunately, the money is already involved—that is, I've made the bets I spoke to you about. But look here"—he started up from his chair in the jerky manner peculiar to him—"you shall have the tips, and that's just like putting money into your pocket. You won't regret having had a deal with Captain Armitage. You back Cardigan for the Royal Hunt Cup; put your bottom dollar on it——"