He had been obliged to tell a lie or so, but that was a matter of very minor importance. He had explained to Mostyn, who had come to him hot with excitement, and dragging young Treves in his wake, to demand an explanation, that it was by Rada's own wish and permission that he had sold the horse. This was the same tale that he had spun for the benefit of old Treves when the idea of raising money upon his daughter's property had first occurred to him. Mostyn had been silenced, but the ominous giggle which had followed him when he turned away was by no means reassuring. He had felt a strange desire to turn back and punch Jack Treves's head, all the more so since the latter had spoken of Rada in a familiar manner, which he resented; but he had restrained himself for the sake of his dignity. In the days which followed Mostyn had worried Rada's father not a little. He had wanted the girl's address in order that he might write to her, but this Captain Armitage had professed himself quite unable to supply. The girl came and went as she chose, he didn't worry his head about her. She was all right with her Newmarket friends--but he couldn't even remember their name. Finally Captain Armitage departed for London, and then Mostyn hung day after day about Barton Mill House keeping watch for the girl's return. He felt certain that her father had made no provision for her if she arrived home before he did. Very often Mostyn called himself a fool for his pains, for what, after all, was Rada to him? It was all very well to tell himself that he wanted confirmation of her father's story about Castor from her lips--that was true enough, but he wanted more besides, and knew it. It was the magnetic thrill of his whole being induced by her presence that he desired, and, though he could not account for it, the feeling was there and had to be recognised. Captain Armitage, alone in his dingy sitting-room, had just drained his glass, crossed his slippered feet, which were stretched out upon a second chair, dropped a stump of his cigar--it had been a fine cigar--one of a highly-priced box that he had brought back with him from London--and closed his heavy lids, preparatory to slumber, when Rada herself swept into the room. She came in like an avalanche, slamming the door behind her; for a moment she stood contemptuously regarding the semi-intoxicated man, then she unceremoniously aroused him to full consciousness of her presence by jerking away the chair upon which his feet reclined. Captain Armitage sat up grumbling and rubbing his heavy eyes. The girl stood before him, indignation plainly written on every feature. "Father, you've sold Castor!" she cried. "I met Jack Treves not half an hour ago, and he told me. It's the truth, I suppose?"