Royce nodded his head gravely. "She'd have been alive to-day"--he began, then broke off suddenly. "I never met your mother as Mrs. Clithero," he continued after a pause. "It would not have been well for either of us. We loved each other once: Mary Willoughby is the only woman who has ever influenced my life. We were to have been married." "I never heard of this; I was never told." Mostyn opened wondering eyes and stared at his companion with new interest. "No, it is hardly likely that you would have been told." A great bitterness had come into Royce's tone. "The whole affair was a discreditable one. Your mother was not to blame; pray understand that at once." The words were called for because Mostyn had flushed and glanced up quickly. "I think as dearly of your mother to-day as ever in the past, and it is for her sake, Mostyn--for I must call you Mostyn--that I have been taking such an interest in you. She was deceived, and so I lost her." He paused; for a second Mostyn could hardly see his face, because of the volume of smoke that he emitted from his lips. "Do you wish to speak to me of this?" Mostyn asked, a slight frown wrinkling his brow. He felt instinctively that the whole story might be one that it would be better for him not to know. Royce shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said slowly; "the subject is painful to me even after all these years, and it might be painful to you to hear it. I only wanted to know that you are really the son of the woman I loved. Your father dealt badly with me, Mostyn, and I have never forgiven him. I suppose he feels just the same towards me. John Clithero was always a hard man, the sort of man who would never forgive anyone whom he has injured." The words were spoken with bitter sarcasm. Mostyn looked away and shuffled with his feet, for he knew that they were true, and yet, since they were spoken of his father, he felt vaguely that he was called upon to resent them. "That brings me to my point," Royce went on, after a moment's pause. "I think I am right in believing that you have come to the Derby to-day without your father's knowledge, and if he knows there will be the devil to pay. I don't suppose Clithero has changed much, and, according to his ideas, a man who ventures upon a race-course is travelling the devil's high road. It's wonderful what some men's minds are capable of!" Royce took his cigar from his mouth and gazed at Mostyn from under his heavy brows. "I wonder you've turned out so well," he commented. "I expect I'm all in the wrong for being here at all," Mostyn said, the colour flushing his face. He could never rid himself of that disposition to blush. "But I couldn't help it," he went on; "I wanted to come, the desire of it was in my blood." He laughed awkwardly. "I suppose I am different somehow to the rest of my people."