"I am very glad you are. You take after your mother, Mostyn, for she came of a healthy-minded stock. But now, tell me, what will happen when you get home? Or do you propose to keep this little jaunt a secret?" The grey eyes fixed upon Mostyn were searching. "I shall tell my father that I went to the Derby," Mostyn replied with some defiance in his tone, for he hated the suggestion of underhand dealing. "I have made no secret of it to anyone. My father is not at home just now, but I shall tell him when he returns." "Good!" Anthony Royce knocked the ash from his cigar, an ash which he had allowed to grow to inordinate length. "I like a man who acts straight and isn't ashamed of what he does. But there will be a row?" "I expect so." Mostyn nodded. What was the use of denying the obvious? "A serious row?" "Very possibly." Mostyn fidgeted. What was the good of all these questions? He had put aside the evil day, determined to live in the present. He was enjoying himself; why spoil his pleasure? A bell rang and the police could be seen clearing the course. Another race was about to be run. Mostyn fumbled with his programme. "Who's going to win this event?" he asked. "A devil of a row, if I'm not mistaken," Anthony Royce said reflectively, ignoring the question. "John Clithero would sacrifice his flesh and blood upon the altar of his principles. I'm afraid you will get into trouble, my boy. Well, what I want to say is this. Come to me if things go badly with you. Don't let any silly pride stand in your way. I've got an idea in my head, and you can help me work it out. You will be doing me a favour, far more than the other way about. You needn't think it a matter of charity--I'm not that kind of man. Furthermore, it's nothing mean or underhand that I shall ask you--to that you have my word." Royce had evidently read the young man's character very well. "Now--supposing your father shows you the door--he may, you know--will you come to me?" "I will," Mostyn stretched out his hand, a strong, well-made hand, and the elder man took it in his, holding it a moment, and looking the boy squarely in the eyes. "That's a deal," he said, heartily; "I shall expect to see you, Mostyn." After the next race, a race over which Mostyn's enthusiasm was again roused, though not to the same pitch as before, the guests upon Sir Roderick's coach returned in little straggling groups to partake of tea. Sir Roderick himself, flushed with his victory, did the honours, and received the congratulations of all his friends. He was bubbling over with good spirits, perpetrated innumerable verbal blunders, at which he was the first to laugh, and distributed "largesse" freely among the hangers-on about the coach--this, until such a crowd of minstrels, gipsies, and such like had collected that it was all the grooms could do to disperse them; but it was a good-natured, cheering crowd, and Sir Roderick was distinctly enjoying himself.