MOSTYN MAKES REPARATION.
"Take the horse away!" commanded Rada, petulantly, as soon as Pierce
had disappeared. The stable-lad mounted upon Castor had been staring
at the little group, undecided if he was still wanted, or if the
inspection of the horse was concluded.
"Take him away!" she repeated, flashing angry eyes upon the boy. "I
can't bear to look at him now," she added under her breath.
The lad touched the reins and Castor trotted quickly away. Mostyn
and Rada were left in the comparative solitude of the great open
space, though every now and again the sound of shouting came to them
from the distance, and through the mist of the morning they could
discern the shadowy forms of men and horses.
Rada sank down upon a bench, clasping her little hands about her
knees; Mostyn stood by her side, waiting till she should have
composed herself. He anticipated a painful scene: his worst fears
had been realised, and even from the few words she had spoken, he
understood what Rada must think of him. Of course, he was really
guiltless of offence; he had been deceived, swindled, but even though
Rada recognised this, she would still think that, actuated by his
desire to checkmate her, he had taken the opportunity of gaining an
unfair advantage.
He was sorry for Rada, and he was sorry for himself as well, for he
saw at once where lay his duty. He knew even now what he would have
to do. There must be no imputation of unfairness against him: he was
bound, by the force of circumstances, to a contest with the girl, but
he would fight in the open. She had issued the challenge with all
the advantage on her side, but he felt no animosity against her for
this: she had spoken just as she, a wayward, impulsive girl, might
have been expected to speak. His only trouble was that she should
have grounds for thinking ill of him.
He no longer felt bashful and shy in her presence. So much, at
least, was in his favour. He seemed to know and understand her
better for having seen the squalor and wretchedness of her home, for
having realised the surroundings in which she lived. Then the
Willis's had spoken so freely of her, almost every day, encouraged,
of course, by Mostyn; he had felt at last that he had known the girl
for years, and that her vagaries were no new thing to him.
Perhaps he knew her better than she knew herself; so Mostyn, who had
had no experience of women, told himself in his conceit. It was all
very well for her to pretend to be hard and wayward and selfish: he
knew better. He knew what reason the villagers had for loving her;
why, only yesterday old Mrs. Oldham at the post office had told him
how Rada had given up days and days to nurse a little child who was
ill with bronchitis, and who might have died of it had it not been
for Rada's care of her. "If I could make her see herself and show
herself to me in her true character," Mostyn muttered, "then we might
be--well, friends, as well as rivals. If I could!"
Unfortunately, as well as having no knowledge of women, Mostyn was
not possessed of much tact. And so, as usual, he blundered
egregiously when he attempted to put his ideas into practice.
"I think, Mr. Clithero," Rada began, "that you have taken a very mean
way of revenging yourself upon me. I thought you would have had more
manly feelings----"
He knew what she meant, but he was in such a hurry to defend himself
that he failed to find the words he wanted.
"I was rude to you the other night," Rada went on relentlessly. "I
was rude to you at the Derby. I couldn't help myself. I always say
just what comes into my head."
Mostyn was quite aware of this, but he did not mean to say so; he
wanted to be very gentle with Rada, quite unconscious that gentleness
was the one thing which in her present temper she would resent. "I
don't think you meant to hurt," he said softly.
"I did," she retorted viciously. "You made such an idiot of
yourself, nobody could have helped being rude and laughing at you.
And yet it's you--a man who hasn't the smallest idea of racing, a man
who'd buy a donkey and enter it for the Derby if he acted upon his
own intelligence--it's you who, because you know I laid store by my
horse, and because you've got some insane idea in your head of
besting me on the racecourse--it's you who've played me this trick!"
She spoke violently without the smallest attempt to weigh her words.
"You knew Castor was mine," she went on. "You must have guessed it
from what I said the other night. You knew, too, that my father is
not to be depended upon. And if you had not known all that, Jack
Treves told you the truth immediately after you had made the
purchase; there was plenty of time to repair the error, if you had
not been spiteful against me."
Mostyn flushed, stung by the injustice, but he was quite determined
that he would not lose his temper. "You misjudge me," he said, "you
misjudge me utterly. The whole thing has been a mistake, and if I
have been to blame in any way I am quite willing to repair the
error." He had no wish to enter into any long explanation, or to
cast the blame where he knew it was merited, upon Rada's father. He
realised, and very probably correctly, that this would only appear a
further meanness in the girl's eyes. "The position is very simple,"
he went on, "and there is no need for you to scold me, Miss Armitage;
please consider that Castor is yours."
It was Rada's turn to flush, for this was just what her father had
hinted at, what he had no doubt relied upon. To accept Castor as a
gift at Mostyn's hands was the very last thing which, in her present
mood, she was prepared to do.
She drew herself up stiffly. "You are very kind," she said, "but do
you think that we are beggars, my father and I, that you dare to make
such a suggestion? What are you to me that I should accept a present
from you?"
"Since there has been a mistake," Mostyn said, vainly striving to
reconcile the girl's inconsistency in his mind, "I want to repair it
the best way I can."
"Quite forgetting that there is such a thing as pride," Rada
interrupted, "and that I have my fair share of it. No, Mr. Clithero,
you have bought Castor, and Castor is yours, unless I am able to
purchase him back. That is what I wish to see you about. I love my
horse," she went on, sucking in her lips as though she found it
difficult to make her explanation, "and there are many reasons why
Castor should be particularly dear to me. So, since, as you say, the
whole thing has been a mistake, you will let me buy Castor back. My
father is bound to let me have the money," she added mendaciously,
"when he knows how badly I want my horse."
Mostyn knew that this was not true, that Captain Armitage was the
last man in the world to disgorge any money that he had become
possessed of by any means whatsoever. He knew, too, that there were
certainly no funds upon which Rada could draw, and he wondered
vaguely how she proposed to raise a thousand pounds to repay him.
"I'd far sooner give you the horse," he said, "for, after all, I
should be returning you your own. I want to have a shot for the next
Derby, Miss Armitage," he went on, "and it isn't only because I have
a sort of a bet with you. That's a motive with me, certainly, but it
isn't all. However, I can find another horse, and really the money
is of no importance to me. We are rivals, you and I, both eager to
win, but both wanting to play the game fairly. You shall have Castor
and I will look out for myself; is that a bargain?"
"Not unless I can pay you the thousand pounds," she retorted. "But
if I can succeed in doing that, and without undue delay, Castor shall
be mine again, and our rivalry can begin as soon as ever you like."
She laughed derisively. "If it does, I don't think there'll be much
chance for you, Mr. Clithero."
He shrugged his shoulders, seeing no use in argument. He did not
want to accept Rada's thousand pounds, but he had sense to see that
it was quite useless, as matters stood, to suggest any other solution
of the difficulty.
"It shall be just as you please, Miss Armitage," he said with an
effort to appear cheerful. "I'm going to do my best to win the
Derby, but it won't be with Castor."
She rose from the bench upon which she had been sitting and once more
extended her cold hand. "Thank you," she said. "There's nothing
more to be settled for the present between us. You shall have your
money and I my horse. That's decided."
Mostyn held her hand in his for a moment, despite her effort to
withdraw it. He looked straight into her eyes. "I wonder," he said,
"why we always meet to quarrel? I should like to be on better terms
with you, Miss Armitage. We can be rivals and yet good friends,
can't we? I am sorry that this misunderstanding should have
happened, but really I'm not to blame."
He released the girl's hand, which fell to her side. Rada tapped the
ground petulantly with her foot. Truth to tell, she was a little
ashamed of herself. Mostyn may not have been so much to blame, after
all; her father had a plausible tongue. But she was in a mood when
to admit herself in the wrong would have been an impossibility for
her. Had Mostyn been wise he would have left her alone; reflection
and repentance would have come in due course. As it was, she hated
him at that moment even for his offer to return Castor to her. How
dared he even think that she would consent to such a thing?
She had no dislike for Mostyn really. In her heart she admired his
clean, well-cut features, his stalwart, manly frame. More than once
she had mentally compared him with other men of her acquaintance,
especially with Jack Treves, and the comparison had been all in
Mostyn's favour. Perhaps it was because she did not understand her
own feelings, because she was too contradictory to yield to them,
that she had always instinctively adopted an aggressive attitude when
with Mostyn. In a sense it was against herself that she was
fighting. How could she, who had been brought up almost from
babyhood to the love of sport, have any esteem for such a greenhorn
as this otherwise good-looking and good-tempered boy? It was that
feeling that had impelled her to make fun of him, and which had
caused her to resent bitterly what she had regarded as an attempt on
his part to get the better of her.
A peculiar pugnacity had been aroused within her; perhaps the wild
and wayward little creature was moved, without knowing it, by the
natural strife between sex and sex. She felt instinctively the
desire of the man to subdue and win her, and all her senses were
accordingly in revolt.
"I suppose you think I'm a little minx, a sort of wild cat," she
said, not looking at him but at the ground. "It's been my fault that
we've quarrelled, and now you are reproaching me for it."
"You're hard to understand, Ra--Miss Armitage," Mostyn said; "there's
no doubt whatever about that, but I don't think you are a bit the
minx you are inclined to make yourself out to be." He was staring at
her, admiring her neat figure with its delicate curves, her nicely
poised head, and her black curls that, in the sunlight, had a tint of
glowing blue in them; he could not see her eyes, but he imagined that
they must glint with the same blue. He wanted her to look up, but
she still stared at the little well-shod foot with which she was
still tapping the ground.
"Yes I am, I'm bad-tempered; I say cruel things; I hurt people! But
why shouldn't I?" she added defiantly, "when there's no one I care
for and no one who cares for me? I've been brought up like that. I
am hard by nature, and I don't see why I should pretend to be any
other than I am."
Mostyn laughed a little. "I know better," he said. "You've got a
heart of gold, Miss Armitage, though out of sheer perversity you
don't like people to know it. But I've found you out, you see,
though we've only known each other such a little while and quarrelled
every time we've met."
"What do you mean?" she cried. She was looking up now, and her eyes
had the blue glint in them, just as he had expected. They flashed
upon him, but he could not tell if it were with anger or surprise.
"You say that nobody loves you, and you love nobody. If so, why are
you always doing little acts of kindness to people? Why do all the
villagers adore you?"
She stamped her foot. "I've got to do something," she cried. "I
must occupy myself somehow. But that isn't the real me, the real
Rada Armitage; you are quite mistaken if you think so. I'm as you've
seen me, as I appear up in London--hard, cruel, a flirt, everything
that's bad. Ask my father; he always calls me a little devil; I've
been called a little devil ever since I can remember."
"I know others who call you an angel, with an aspirate tacked on,"
Mostyn laughed. He was rather enjoying himself; it was amusing
telling the girl her good qualities and hearing them so violently
contradicted. It was Rada's nature to contradict, that was very
evident, but it was quite delicious to make her protest that she was
all that was bad when the truth was so palpably otherwise.
"What is one to believe, what you say yourself or what others say of
you? I know what I think," he went on, more than half-conscious that
he was goading the girl into a fresh passion. But how could she
resent it when he was really praising her? "The real Rada Armitage
is kind-hearted and good----"
"No she isn't, she's--oh, I don't know what you are making me say!
You are perfectly horrid! What's the good of telling a girl she's an
angel when she feels quite the reverse? That's just like a man."
Rada turned away, angrily biting her lip. "I don't want to hear any
more of my virtues, thank you, Mr. Clithero; I'd like you better if
you told me I was a beast. And now please excuse me, for I'm going
to the stables to see Jack Treves. He doesn't tell me I'm an angel,"
she added viciously.
Mostyn made no reply; and after waiting a moment as though she
expected him to speak, Rada turned on her heel and went in search of
her mare, which was quietly grazing close at hand.