So matters stood when Mostyn and Pierce took up their residence at Partinborough Grange some ten days before the Newmarket meeting. The house had been thoroughly put in order, and was now as comfortable a residence as anyone could desire. As for the garden, this had become, under the careful auspices of Willis—who had now someone to work for—a very floral paradise. Perhaps it was for the sake of Rada that Mostyn had given special care to the cultivation of roses; he knew how she loved the flower, and how they had attracted her to the Grange before he came.
Mostyn and Rada met almost daily, but they met as good friends, nothing more. Pierce could have had no possible reasons for grumbling. Mostyn had quite made up his mind that the girl must not be bothered by his attentions, and she herself seemed to appreciate his decision, for she never referred in any way to that explanatory letter which she had written to London.
Mostyn had no particular reason to be jealous of Jack Treves, in spite of the understanding which he knew existed between the girl and the trainer's son. Rada showed herself, as far as she could, to be impartial, and her one desire during these days seemed to be to avoid, as far as she could, any reference to love or marriage: Castor was her one care.
Certainly Mostyn was not jealous, nor did he ever attempt, by word or deed, to belittle Jack Treves in Rada's eyes—this though not infrequently she would appeal to him for his opinion as to this or that in the behaviour of Jack. He had fully made up his mind that he would hold himself quite neutral and await events—the crisis that would have to come after the following year's Derby.
But as for Jack Treves, he did not look upon matters quite in the same light, and when trouble came it was due wholly to his jealousy, for he had quite decided that he had cause to be jealous. Thus it was that he was the first to break the stipulation about not bothering Rada, and she, in revenge, retaliated by cutting him for days together and allowing herself to be more than ever in the company of Mostyn. Of all this the latter knew nothing until, as was to be expected, the storm broke.
It was two or three days before the Cesarewitch and Mostyn had strolled over to the stables to have a look at Gulliver after he was brought in from exercise. He was strolling leisurely across the stretch of open country towards the gates when he was suddenly confronted by Rada, emerging flushed and excited, her lips pursed angrily together, her eyes glittering with that look of irresponsible defiance which Mostyn had already grown to recognise, though of late it had not been directed against himself.
Nor could it be so on the present occasion; he was quite sure of that, for it was more than a fortnight since he and Rada had had anything approaching a quarrel, and then it had been merely over some trivial matter quickly forgotten. The girl would have passed him with a little quick nod of her head, but he held out his arm and impeded her.
"What's up, Rada; what's wrong?" he asked.
At first she would give him no explanation at all; she begged him to let her go; her father was expecting her at home, and she was in a hurry. But Mostyn, although he knew it was at some risk to himself, took her by the arm and quietly demanded particulars. He had grown in daring of late.
"You must tell me, Rada," he said, "you really must. I insist."