Mostyn studied racing literature as he travelled down in the train, totally ignoring magazines, of which he was usually fond, and every form of light reading. He had purchased the evening paper solely with the object of absorbing the sporting intelligence. Ruff's Guide and a stud book bulged prominently in the pocket of his blue serge coat; he had promised himself that these works should be his inseparable companions during the months to come. Oh, yes, he would soon be well up in sporting technicalities; he laughed at himself now as he remembered his blunders on Derby day. To have asked the age of Hipponous--to have suggested that Hipponous should run in the Oaks--and above all to have been taken in by that old joke about the Waterloo Cup--his cheeks reddened even now as he thought of it. He wished he had been able to talk it all over with Pierce, but Pierce was still away at his father's house in Worcestershire: Mostyn had received a letter from him that afternoon, just as he was leaving for the station. He had perused it hastily, and then thrust it into his pocket. Now, having time at his disposition, he drew it out and read it for the second time. "Poor Pierce," he muttered to himself, "poor old chap!" The letter was not a cheerful one, as, perhaps, was to be expected. Old Mr. Trelawny had not shown himself very amenable, this although he was admittedly fond of Cicely for her own sake. He was a bluff old gentleman of the old school, a thorough sportsman, and he cordially despised John Clithero and John Clithero's doctrines. He listened with considerable interest to the story of Mostyn's rebellion and the refusal of the latter to submit to his father. "A brave lad!" he had cried, "I like his spirit." He had repeated this several times, somewhat to Pierce's annoyance, whose thoughts were concentrated upon his own affairs. Finally, Pierce had obtained a concession. Since Cicely would not be twenty-one till the expiration of another twelve months, Pierce was to wait a year without seeing or writing to the girl, and if he was of the same mind at the end of that time, Mr. Trelawny would offer no further opposition. Pierce might marry his sweetheart, regardless of John Clithero's disapproval. But the year's probation was to be a _sine qua non_. "If you deceive me over that, my boy, there'll be a row," so the old gentleman had asserted with a good deal of vigour and a quaint raising of the eye-brows that was peculiar to him. "Jove, I'll cut you off like Clithero has cut off Mostyn. Remember that. Write to Cicely and tell her what I say--and then not another letter. That's my decree, and you'd better stick to it."