"If Hipponous hadn't won to-day," he remarked enthusiastically, "I feel that I should have had a dead cert with Pollux. That's saying a lot, of course, but you never saw such a perfect colt. Sired by Jupiter, with Stella for dam--you can't have better breeding than that." "Ah--ah," laughed Captain Armitage, lifting his glass to his lips with shaking hand. "That's all very well, 'Rory,' my boy, but what about Castor? His sire was Jupiter, too, and his dam Swandown; she was a perfect mare, though I never had much luck with her, and she died after the foal was born. Still--there's Castor----" He broke into one of his cackling laughs. "It'll be a race between Castor and Pollux for the Derby next year." He stood up, then realising a certain unsteadiness of his limbs, sat down again. Sir Roderick smiled benignly, and proceeded to explain to the company that this rivalry between Castor and Pollux was no new thing. The two colts had been born within a week of each other, and had been named, not so much according to their parentage as because they resembled each other so minutely. They were both perfect animals, and there was little to choose between them. Mostyn listened attentively to the conversation, gathering up scraps of knowledge, and storing them in his brain. He talked when he could, but he would have been wiser to have kept silent, for, towards the close of the day, and when preparations for departure were being made, he committed a _faux pas_ which quite eclipsed his other efforts. He had allowed his enthusiasm to master him once more, and had lost guard of his tongue--as ill-luck would have it, in the presence of Rada. He could quite understand how it might be the height of anyone's ambition to own a Derby winner, so he exclaimed; then he added--as a little while earlier to Royce--"How I should love to win a Derby!" Immediately after which he turned and enquired of Sir Roderick if Hipponous was not entered for the Oaks as well. He bitterly regretted that speech, for even Anthony Royce and Pierce were constrained to laugh, while as for Captain Armitage, he simply rolled in his seat. But it was not that so much that Mostyn minded, though he stammered and blushed crimson, and began muttering some excuse. What hurt him was the look of scorn and derision that flashed into Rada's eyes. "You win a Derby!" she cried disdainfully. "Are you sure you know a horse from a cow? Why, you silly boy, you couldn't win a Derby if you lived to a hundred! I'd stake my life on that." Poor Mostyn choked with indignation, the insult was so deliberate and spoken so openly. How he wished it was a man with whom he had to deal! "I----" he began hesitatingly, then paused, for Rada interrupted him. "Would you like to have a bet on it?" she asked mockingly.