Captain Armitage, his white beard and moustache contrasting forcibly with his rubicund complexion, disdained tea, and appropriated a champagne bottle to himself. He was less excitable than he had been on the journey down, but then, as he would say himself, he was the kind of man whom drink sobered. Lady Lempiere and Major Molyneux were conspicuous by their absence, but all the other guests had put in an appearance. Lord Caldershot was still assiduous in his attentions to Rada, who, for her part, was in a state of delight at having won the coach sweepstake, as well as several pounds, the proceeds of her own investment upon Hipponous, plus many pairs of gloves which she had apparently won off her cavalier. She was a distinctly pretty girl; Mostyn, who had had some opportunities of talking to her during the day, was constrained to admit the fact. He was attracted by her, and yet, at the same time, in some peculiar manner, repelled. She was unlike any girl he had ever met. She had no reserve of manner, she spoke as freely as a man might speak, and yet her whole appearance was distinctly feminine. "Rada Armitage is a little savage," so Royce had explained her to Mostyn. "She has lived all her life with that wretched old scapegrace, her father, for her mother died when she was an infant. She has never known a controlling hand. Heaven knows how they exist--Armitage's cottage at Partingborough is a disgrace to a civilised man. Rada's like an untrained filly, and you must take her at that. She was called after a horse, too, one upon which the captain won a lot of money the year she was born." The girl was small in stature, although she was slim and perfectly proportioned, giving, perhaps, an impression of inches which she really did not possess. Her hair was deep black, glossy, and inclined to be rebellious; her eyes, too, were black, very bright, piercing, and particularly expressive. They seemed to change in some peculiar way with every emotion that swayed her; one moment they would be soft, the next they would flash with humour, and then again they would be scornfully defiant. As with her eyes, so it was with her mouth and with her face generally; to Mostyn she was a puzzle, and he wondered what her real nature could be. He took the opportunity of dispensing tea to improve his acquaintance. He felt that the girl watched him surreptitiously, and, self-conscious as he always was, he had an idea that there was a rather derisive curl upon her lips. Probably she had not forgotten his _faux pas_ of the morning. Unfortunately he found it more difficult than he had anticipated to take part in the conversation. Sir Roderick was telling of the merits of a two-year-old, named Pollux, which he had in his Irish stables, and which he had entered for next year's Derby.