Mostyn and Pierce had been dining, as Sir Roderick's guests, at the Imperial Club. Mostyn had only arrived in town the day before, and Pierce, who had been impatiently awaiting him, was not prepared to allow the grass to grow under their feet. He was as keenly interested in Mostyn's success as was the latter himself. The dinner with Sir Roderick had been arranged at his suggestion.
"'Old Rory' is the best fellow in the world," he had told Mostyn, "and he can do more for you than any man I know of in London—introduce you to the right sort of people, and all that kind of thing. If we can get him really interested in our struggle, why, the battle will be more than half won before it has commenced."
Mostyn had been anxious at first that nothing should be said to Sir Roderick MacPhane about the unsatisfactory deal he had made over the colt Castor; he was very shy of any allusion to Rada, and the whole story of Captain Armitage's duplicity could hardly have been touched upon without some reference to the girl.
Besides, after all, so Mostyn had argued with himself, Captain Armitage might be a disreputable and altogether unscrupulous old man, but, nevertheless, he was Rada's father, and so a privileged person in Mostyn's eyes. However, Pierce had advised that the truth should be told, although, of course, it was not necessary to mention by what means Rada had succeeded in paying for the colt. It was quite enough to explain that, after having purchased Castor, Mostyn had discovered his mistake and, out of consideration for Rada, had consented to the whole transaction being annulled.
To Pierce, Mostyn had unbosomed himself, making a clean breast of everything; not even keeping back the incidents of that passionate moment when he had held Rada in his arms, and, goaded on by some impulse that he hardly understood himself, had told her of his love. As a consequence he had been forced to listen to what Pierce was pleased to call a lecture upon worldly wisdom. He had indeed been rather severely taken to task.
"Look here, Mostyn," Pierce had concluded by saying, "you've got a stiff job before you, a task which is far more difficult than you seem to think; well, if you're going to win you must put all thoughts of love-making and suchlike nonsense out of your head. I know it's jolly hard when a man gets taken that way—I ought to know, oughtn't I? but I've got my year's probation, and now you've got yours as well. Look at it in that light. You've got to think of horses for the next year, and horses only. You'll come to grief if you go running after the petticoats as well. As for Rada, she is like an untrained filly, and you will have your work cut out for you if you think of breaking her in. Do as you like in a year, old man; but you can't stand a handicap yet."
"You needn't worry about Rada, Pierce," Mostyn returned, without any loss of temper. "There's not going to be any more love scenes between her and myself. Why, she said she hated me, and we've never met yet without quarrelling."
"That's all right, then." Pierce had glanced sharply at his friend's face as if to convince himself that Mostyn was quite serious. The innocent! Why, according to his own tale, Rada had allowed him to kiss her; she had rested for a few moments in his arms before she had torn herself away, crying and protesting, just as Pierce would have expected of her, wayward little creature that she was; and yet Mostyn did not seem to realise that the game was in his own hands! He had taken Rada quite seriously!
Such was, indeed, the case, for Mostyn had left Partinborough without seeing Rada again, quite convinced that his company was odious to her.
Well, this was all for the best—so argued Pierce to himself, and, as a wise man, with Mostyn's best interest at heart, it would be folly for him to point out any possibility of mistake.