Mostyn looked up brightly as he nodded good-night. "Oh, I'm not worrying!" he said, "the whole thing has been a gamble, hasn't it, Pierce? And he's a poor gambler who growls at his losses."
CHAPTER XVI.
MOSTYN IS TEMPTED.
Left alone, Mostyn drew his arm-chair nearer the fire, and settling himself comfortably, gave himself up to solitary reflection. The evenings were still fresh, for May had set in unseasonably, and a fire was by no means to be despised. It was, indeed, because the dining-room was the warmer of the two sitting-rooms that Mostyn had elected to occupy it that evening. Frazer, the man-servant, had long ago cleared the table, and so Mostyn did not expect to be disturbed.
Of course, as was only natural, his thoughts turned to Rada. And now, as he sat gazing into the fire, he knew that he had been very dense. That foolish stubbornness of his—it was there that the blame lay. He had made up his mind that Rada's injunction was to be obeyed strictly and to the letter, and so he had put temptation behind him, even when his common-sense, combined with his racing experience, told him that the time had come to force the pace.
He had refrained from speaking, although, over and over again, he had read invitation in Rada's eyes; he had given his word to her, he had given his word to Pierce; besides, Rada's semi-engagement to Jack Treves was still an accepted fact, and so Mostyn argued that until she, voluntarily and of her own accord, elected to break with Jack, he had no right to interfere. He had never doubted that she would do this after the Derby, when the question of a formal engagement was to be raised.
Of course, there was much overstraining at honour in all this, as well as a lamentable ignorance of the feminine nature; but then that was Mostyn all over. He did not—in this case, it was almost would not—take into account the possibility, the inherent probability, of a woman changing her mind. He was quite aware that Rada's moods were as variable as those of the proverbial April day, and yet he insisted upon taking her literally, with the natural result that his attitude was sorely misunderstood.
For Rada had come to the conclusion that his feelings towards her had undergone a change—that he no longer cared—and she was miserable in consequence. Mostyn had been aware of this fact for some little time past; he was now only too conscious of all that he had left undone. He would have asked nothing better than to go to Rada and speak out his love; it was no longer stubbornness and a straining at honour that hindered him. It was something more potent than that.
For, now that all might have been well, another factor in the case had arisen, another opponent had sprung into being, and poor Mostyn was beginning to realise that he was beaten all along the line. Rada was further away from him than ever just when she seemed to be most near.
Ruin stared him in the face—irrevocable ruin. He was a failure—Anthony Royce's millions would never be his. In another month's time he would be plunged back into poverty—he would have nothing left, nothing save the Grange, which he would not be able to keep up. All the ready money which had been handed over to him had been expended—he had even the possibility of debts to face.