Jack Treves nibbled at his straw. "The captain didn't tell you then? I thought not. You see, when he went broke three years ago and appeared in the forfeit list at Weatherby's, she sold all her mother's jewels and paid his debts, and it was then that she registered her colours-- "_Her_ colours!" gasped Mostyn. "Do you mean to tell me that Rada--er, Miss Armitage--has registered racing colours?" "Lor lummy, yes!" was the reply, spoken with a certain malice. "A bit young, of course, but she's not like other girls. She's not had the best of luck, though, up to date, and that's why she's so keen on seeing the lemon and lavender carried to victory at Epsom next year. She simply dotes on Castor, and considers that the colt is hers in return for that jewellery." Jack Treves threw his whittled straw away. "I guess," he said, "there'll be the devil of a row." CHAPTER X. MOSTYN LEARNS HIS ERROR. Some seven or eight days after the sale of Castor, Captain Armitage reclined at his ease in the dilapidated arm-chair which he particularly affected. He had grown to like the untidiness and the dirt of his dismal little sitting-room, and he would not have altered his immediate surroundings for anything better, even had he been able to do so. It was about nine o'clock at night. He had partaken of a meagre supper--he never ate much at the best of times--served up in haphazard fashion by the one wretched serving maid, a poor little slut, who did the whole work of the house. The plates and dishes had not been cleared away but were piled up anyhow on a clothless table by his side, and within easy reach of his hand was a bottle of champagne, three parts empty, with which he had been regaling himself. Close by, too, was another bottle which contained brandy; Captain Armitage was very fond of champagne, only he used to say that he preferred it diluted--but he was accustomed to dilute it with brandy instead of water. He had returned from London the day before, where he had had what he would himself have called "a good time" upon the proceeds of Mostyn's cheque for a thousand pounds. What had become of the money and how much remained over was a secret only known to Captain Armitage; at any rate, to judge by his complacent smile, the smile of a man who was three parts intoxicated--he was not suffering from any pricking of conscience for having disposed of property which did not actually belong to him. He knew that there would be an unpleasant scene when Rada returned, and there were times when he was a little afraid of his petulant, self-willed daughter; but Captain Armitage was the kind of man who lived in the present, and did not unnecessarily worry himself about what might come to pass in the future. He had had his thousand pounds, and that, after all, was the great point.