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----"
"Thank you," said Mostyn coldly. "I don't bet; I never intend to
bet."
"Don't bet!" Armitage sank back into his chair again. "Well, I'm
blessed! Here's a young man who professes to be going in for racing,
and who says he doesn't bet! Never heard of such a thing, never!"
Armitage stared at Mostyn as though he were looking upon some new and
remarkable species of animal.
"I suppose you don't understand racing for the mere sake of sport,"
Mostyn said. "Anyway, that's how it appeals to me, and though I've
lost Castor I propose to look out for another horse for next year's
Derby. Your daughter and I are going to be rivals, Captain Armitage."
The captain was on the alert again. "Another horse--next year's
Derby," he mused. "Well, let me see; perhaps I can be of use to you
after all." He was evidently turning over in his mind the means of
effecting another deal, probably as advantageous to himself as the
last.
But Mostyn wanted no further business dealings with Captain Armitage.
"Thank you," he said, "but I need no assistance in this matter. But
now as to Castor," he went on; "I want it to be clearly
understood--and you must write me a letter to this effect, Captain
Armitage--that the horse is to be, and to remain, your daughter's
property: Castor is to run in the Derby in her name, and of course,
should he win, the money that accrues is to be her property
absolutely. Upon that understanding, and that understanding only, I
give up possession."
"Surely, surely. It shall be just as you wish. I always meant Rada
to have Castor, and I don't grudge her the money a bit," said
Armitage magnanimously. "I'll write you the letter--yes, certainly.
And now you'll have a drink, won't you, since this matter has been so
amicably settled? And perhaps I can find you one of these cigars; I
can recommend them." To give away a cigar was an extravagance of
which Captain Armitage was rarely guilty, but one, upon this
occasion, he felt he could afford.
Mostyn, however, refused both the drink and the cigar. He took his
leave of Captain Armitage, feeling after this, his second dealing
with that gentleman, that Rada was more than ever to be excused for
her waywardness and inconsistency.
"With such a father," he muttered to himself, as he swung along the
leafy lanes, "brought up by him in the atmosphere of that wretched
cottage, with no other example before her--good heavens! It's a
wonder she's turned out as well as she has. And beautiful, too--for
she is a beauty, there's no denying that; she must inherit her looks
from her mother. What a pity--what a terrible pity for the
girl--that her mother died when she was little more than a baby.
It's just that that she has missed out of her life, the influence of
a woman, the tender hand of a mother."
So Mostyn mused. The only thing that troubled him really was what
Pierce would say about his quixotic conduct. Pierce did not seem as
sanguine as Mostyn upon the subject of the purchase of a colt
suitable to run in the Derby; Pierce, too, had expressed decided
approval of Castor, and would probably call his friend a fool for
having given him up. And Mostyn hated above all things appearing a
fool, either in his own eyes or those of anyone else; which perhaps
accounted for the great desire that was in him to set himself right
with Rada.
Upon his way home, taking a short cut, he had to pass by a footway
that led through some meadows and then skirted a little wood, a path
that was very popular with the young people of the neighbourhood, and
which had been given the name of "Lovers' Walk." So it happened that
he was not at all astonished when, upon a bench conveniently placed
in the shadow of a large elm, a bench set back a little from the
footpath and partially concealed by the leafy branches of the tree,
he found a man and a girl seated in the usual close proximity to each
other. It was not, however, till he came abreast with them that he
recognised Jack Treves and Rada.
The girl, hearing footsteps, had started to her feet. Jack remained
seated, his long legs stretched out, and his lips curved derisively
as Mostyn approached. Rada had flushed red and she took a step
forward, as though she would have spoken to Mostyn; then she changed
her mind and merely recognised his presence by a little perfunctory
nod of her head. As for Mostyn himself, after a quick glance at
Jack, he altogether ignored that individual. He raised his hat to
Rada and passed on his way.
He walked on without turning his head, unconscious of the scowl that
followed him and the muttered oath. But all the beauty had gone out
of the day for him, all the colour from the trees and hedges. He saw
a stretch of ugly, undulating, monotonous country, devoid of charm.
It depressed him.
"What possesses her to care for a fellow like that?" he muttered
under his breath. "A low-down cad, and one whom it isn't safe for
her to be about with? She must know his reputation, and how
everyone's talking about him and Daisy Simpson even now. Why, I saw
him with Daisy only this morning outside the stables! I saw him kiss
her." Mostyn waved his stick and viciously decapitated an
unoffending dandelion as he spoke.
It was quite true that Jack Treves enjoyed, literally enjoyed, for he
was proud of it, a bad reputation in Partinborough. Those gossips,
the Willis's, were responsible for Mostyn's knowledge. Mrs. Willis
hated to see her dearly beloved Rada in Jack's company, and spoke her
mind fluently on the subject. "Let him stick to his Daisy Simpson,"
she said. "Daisy's good enough for the likes of him. They're birds
of a feather. But Miss Rada is a lady, though her father's an old
drunkard, and there's the width of the world between her and that
scapegrace Jack."
Daisy Simpson, as Mostyn soon found out, was the daughter of a
well-to-do farmer in the neighbourhood. She was, according to Mrs.
Willis, a "fast lot," notorious for her flirtations.
Mostyn would not have enjoyed the conversation between Rada and Jack
that followed his passing, had he overheard it. Yet, in a way, his
mind might have been set at rest as to the existing relationship
between the pair, and he would certainly have appreciated Rada's
immediate championship of his name, when Jack applied an insulting
epithet to it.
"None of that, please, Jack," said the girl firmly, lifting a small
but authoritative hand. "I may laugh at Mr. Clithero, if I choose,
to his face, but I won't hear him abused behind his back. That's not
cricket. Remember that he offered to give me back Castor for
nothing, though he's got some wild sort of notion in his head that he
must win a Derby before I do. He was tricked into buying
Castor--there's no blinking at that fact--and he has taken his
disappointment like a man."
"Look here," said Jack, in a voice that would have been harsh had he
been speaking to anyone but Rada, "I want to know how I stand. If I
help you as you want me to----"
"As you have promised," she interrupted.
"Well, as I have promised. What I mean is, I can't have any
sentimental foolery between you and any other chap, see? You say you
won't marry me till this time next year in any case----"
"Can I think of marrying," asked Rada, indignantly, "or give any
promise even, when all my thoughts are fixed on Castor and the Derby?
You've just got to wait, Jack."
"All right," he grumbled, "though I don't think you're treating me
fair. But this little service I'm doin' you will make a bit of a
bond between us, Rada. I take it for as good as an engagement; you
understand that, don't you?"
"Yes, yes," said the girl petulantly, and with her usual
thoughtlessness. "But don't worry me now, Jack. I'm all impatience
to get this business settled. Let's go back to the stables."
The man did not move. He was digging a hole in the soft earth with
his heel. "No hurry," he said. "I brought you out here to talk this
matter over. I know I'm all right up to date. Your father's quite
ready that I should marry you; he knows I've got the brass. It's
only you I'm not sure about since this fellow Clithero came along.
You may have seen a lot of him in London, for all I can tell. What
were you doin' round at the Grange the other night?"
"So it was you, was it?" exclaimed Rada. "I thought so. You
frightened me. Why were you hanging about the house? Was it because
you thought I should be alone?" She spoke out fearlessly, and from
the man's manner she knew she had divined the truth.
"I was jealous," he muttered. It was a palpable lie, since he could
not have known of Mostyn's arrival.
Rada let it pass. She was too eagerly bent upon attaining her own
desire to weigh consequences.
"It's getting late," she said impatiently. "We must be going, Jack."
She tugged at his sleeve, seeking vainly to induce him to rise.
"Tell me first," he said, "that this fellow Clithero is nothing to
you. I'm not afraid of anything else. Whether Castor wins the Derby
or not you'll be engaged to me this time next year. But let me hear
you say what I want."
"Mr. Clithero is nothing to me, nothing at all," exclaimed Rada,
biting her lip. "I only met him once before that evening at the
Grange, and then I was rude to him. I was rude to him again that
night. I expect he hates me, and will hate me all the more because
of Castor." She spoke vehemently, just as the words came to her lips.
"Good!" Jack rose languidly and slowly from the bench. "Then we'll
be gettin' back and I'll do as you ask me." He passed his arm under
hers with an air of proprietorship; then, as they stood under the
shadow of the trees, stooped to kiss her.
She started away from him. "No, not that, Jack," she cried. "Don't
treat me like another Daisy Simpson. I'm not that sort. We're not
engaged yet, whatever we may be next year. If you want me you've got
to wait, and that's irrevocable."
"All right," grumbled the man. "But you're a maddenin', aggravatin'
little vixen, Rada, and the Lord knows why I should trouble myself so
much about you. You've got a hold on me somehow, and I expect you'll
keep it."
And, so, walking now staidly by her side, he conducted her back to
his father's house, which adjoined the stables.
About nine o'clock that night Mostyn sat in the drawing-room of the
Grange, studying a book on breeding, "Hodgson's Breeding Tables." He
was quite alone in the house. After a time, however, his thoughts
wandered, and, naturally, they turned to Rada.
As he thought of the girl there came a tap upon the open window, and
looking up, he saw her there, a small elf-like figure standing in the
moonshine.
He started up from his chair, dropping the book upon the floor, as
she entered the room. There was a smile upon her lips, a smile that
was triumphant but not altogether happy, and he thought that there
were dark borders to her eyes, black rings which he had not noticed
before.
"I knew that you would be alone in the house," she said, "and that's
why I did not trouble to go to the front door."
"Rada, I'm delighted," he began.
"So am I," she interrupted, "delighted that I am able to settle up
the matter of Castor so quickly. Here is your money." She had been
holding her left hand behind her; now she drew it forward and dropped
upon the table a little crumpled packet of bank-notes. "A thousand
pounds," she said defiantly. "You'd better count them and see if
they are right."
"Rada!" Mostyn spoke her name boldly. He had noticed the trembling
of the little white hand which had dropped the notes upon the table;
he had noticed, too, a tone of desperation in the girl's voice--a
tone which she had attempted to conceal by assumed bravado. He
seized her hand before she could draw it away, and held it tightly in
his own. "Rada, where did you get that money?"
She struggled with him, but ineffectually. "What does it matter to
you where I got the money," she panted, "and how dare you call me
Rada? Let me go. I've paid my debt, and that's all I came for."
"I don't want the money." He took the notes in his free hand,
crushing them in his strong fingers. "Don't you understand that
Castor is yours already? I've given him back to your father, who has
accepted him on your behalf. He made no suggestion of repaying the
thousand pounds, and I know that it isn't from him that you've got
the money."
A suspicion of the truth had flashed into Mostyn's brain, and he
spoke sternly, keeping his eyes fixed upon the girl's face.
She made another effort to release her hand, but a more feeble one.
Somehow the touch of Mostyn's fingers upon her wrist, the firm grip
of them, was not unpleasing to her; she felt his mastery, she felt
that she was dealing with a man.
"What right have you to question me?" she panted.
"No right--except that I love you." The words came out against his
will; he had had no intention whatever of speaking them.
"You love me!" Suddenly she ceased to struggle. A look that was
almost one of terror came into her eyes. Of his own accord Mostyn
released her hand. She stood staring at him, motionless, save for
the quick rise and fall of her bosom.
"You love me!" she repeated, then she broke out into wild, almost
hysterical, laughter.
"Yes, you little untamed, self-willed thing! I do love you, and I'm
not going to let you make a fool of yourself. I shouldn't have told
you I cared, if it had not been for that."
"But you love me!" she repeated, breaking off in her laughter. "Why
do you love me? I can't understand it. I've never been even nice to
you--I've been a little beast. And we've hardly met more than four
times in our lives. Yet you love me."
"Heaven knows why," he returned. "Who can understand or explain
these things? You've wound yourself round my heart in some
extraordinary way. I've hated and loved you at the same time.
You've never been out of my thoughts. Sometimes I don't know even
now----"
She turned upon him sharply. "Whether it's hate or love," she
prompted, laughing again, but at the same time clasping her hands
nervously together. "They say the two are akin. But it had better
be hate, Mr. Clithero. You said yourself this morning that we must
be rivals, and rivals can't love each other, you know. You want to
beat me out of the field, and I want to beat you--that's why I've
bought back my Castor. Do you think I would ever have accepted him
from you as a gift? Never, never! Without that money I should have
given Castor up. But I knew how I could get it when I spoke to you
this morning: yes, I knew what I had to do."
She had moved away from him, and had placed the width of a little
table between them. She stood by this, leaning her hands heavily
upon it as though she needed its support.
"We are to be rivals," she continued, "there's no getting away from
it. You'd better hate me, Mr. Clithero, for if you get the better of
me at the Derby I shall hate you--I can tell you that."
"No, I love you." Mostyn moved round the table as though to take her
in his arms, to crush her into submission. But she lifted one hand
with an imperious gesture.
"Don't speak of loving me," she cried; "it's absurd, impossible."
Again she laughed hysterically. Her eyes were soft, and Mostyn
thought he could detect a suspicious moisture glistening upon her
lashes; but her voice belied her eyes. "It's just like with Castor,"
she panted. "You wanted Castor when there were so many other horses
you might have bought. Now you want me, when there are hundreds of
other girls."
"Tell me"--Mostyn paid no heed to her wild and unreasoning words--"is
there anyone else, Rada?" The recollection of the meeting that
afternoon came to his mind. "Do you love Jack Treves? Is it from
him that you have obtained this money--money that I don't want, and
won't touch? You are not engaged to him--I should have heard of it
if you were. My God!" A thought struck him, and he stepped quickly
forward and passed his strong arm about the girl. "Rada, oh, you
poor little thing! Look at me, if you can--tell me that you haven't
promised yourself to him in return for this wretched money."
Her head was bent, he tried to lift it, and to look into her eyes.
He felt her yielding to him; he felt the trembling of her limbs, the
heaving of her breast, the quick panting of her breath. He was
trembling, too, as he gradually raised her face to his, as he gazed
down into her eyes that were glistening with tears and with a strange
light he had never seen in them before, as he marked her full, red
lips, lips a little parted, and that seemed to shape an appeal.
"Rada," he cried wildly, "you don't love any other man? I can read
it in your eyes. Rada, I love you." His lips were to hers, and for
one moment--a moment in which all the emotions of a lifetime were
crowded, she lay impassive in his arms.
Then, as if she were suddenly aroused from a dream, a shudder passed
through her, her body stiffened, and with a low cry, a sob, she
struggled free.
"How dare you, how dare you?" she gasped. She sped swiftly to the
window, leaving Mostyn standing aghast before this fresh
inconsistency of woman. "I'll never forgive you--never! I--I hate
you."
With which she swung out into the night, and a moment later Mostyn
could hear her sobbing as she ran down the gravel path.