But there was Jack Treves. Did she say anything in her letter about Jack Treves? With fingers that trembled a little, he turned over the page, and there, about half-way down, he espied the name of the trainer's son. After that he resumed his reading of the letter at the place where he had left off, his heart fluttering foolishly, the written words upon the page dancing before his eyes. "And now, just a few words on another subject," so the letter went on. "It's a thing that I can write better than I can speak--it's about Jack Treves and that thousand pounds. It's true I got the money from him, and that there's a sort of promise of marriage between us. It's not only because he helped me to buy back Castor, but there has been a vague kind of understanding, for the last year or two, that I am to marry him some day. My father wants it. You'll respect my confidence, I know, so I will tell you that there's a considerable debt, and it must be paid off somehow." "The old blackguard!" commented Mostyn forcibly, when he reached this point. "He's selling his daughter to pay off his debts--that's just what it means. But to sell her to a low-down bounder like young Treves--it's cruel and disgusting. And she, I don't believe she cares for Treves a bit, really, and she's probably angry with herself now because she's bound the fetters all the tighter about her by going to him in one of those tempestuous tempers of hers and borrowing a thousand pounds. A curse upon the money--if only Rada had taken it back!" Mostyn had thrust the notes away in his safe at the Grange that night, and there they had remained. It was a foolish thing to have done, no doubt, but he could not bring himself to touch the money--it was like fire to his fingers. Mostyn continued his reading. "The truth is, that I don't love anyone--at least, I don't think I do. It did not seem to me to matter if I married Jack Treves or not. He would do as well as another--since I had to marry some day. And just now my mind is far too full of other matters--of Castor, for instance, whom I think I love better than any man upon earth--to think of marriage, or anything of the sort. Jack understands that, and he's promised not to bother me till after the Derby next year. I like him for that; it's nice of him, don't you think so? "Now, Mr. Clithero, I think I've explained everything as well as I can. You'll come back to the Grange soon, won't you? We'll be friends, and try not to quarrel again."