His son turned to him affectionately.

“No, no, sir,” he said gratefully.  “I don’t suppose they are as bad as all that.  Jasper will see to them.”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he regretted them.  His father’s face darkened; his eyes grew fierce.

“Jasper! always Jasper,” he snarled, even as Mortimer Shelton had done.  “It’s a pity he didn’t break his neck this morning, instead of his miserable tool.”

Adrien uttered a protesting exclamation; he would have sacrificed anything sooner than have given his father this opportunity to revile his friend.

“You must be blind, sir,” continued Lord Barminster, now working himself up into a rage.  “Did not you see and hear enough from that jockey this morning to make you realise what that precious friend of yours had done?  I tell you, Adrien, that Jasper Vermont bribed that miserable man to rope your horse.  For him, you have allowed your friends, my guests, to be swindled out of their money.”

It was the first time in Adrien’s recollection that the proud old man had ever even hinted that Barminster Castle was not entirely his son’s yet; that the guests were those of his father’s choice as well of his own.

Adrien’s eyes blazed.

“Father,” he said in a low voice, but as hard as steel, “I know you have always hated Mr. Vermont, but this goes farther than hate.  Forgive me if I ask you, but surely you have some proofs?  Otherwise you would not have accused him of such villainy.  Give them to me, and I promise you to punish him as severely as you yourself could wish.”

“Proofs!” his father repeated sternly with knitted brows.  “What proofs would such a clever scoundrel leave about?  This morning’s work should be sufficient proof even to satisfy you.”

Adrien drew himself up to his full height, and confronted his father with a resolute air.

“It is no use, sir,” he said.  “I cannot take a drunken jockey’s ramblings as proof of such an awful thing as that.  Jasper is my friend, and besides, it is more to his interest to help me than to hate me.”

Lord Barminster sighed deeply.  The experience of age had taught him the impossibility of convincing youth against its will.

“Well, my boy,” he said, “have your own way, but mark my words, you will live to repent your folly!  I have no more proof, and to me no more is needed.  Men on their death-beds do not lie, and I am as firmly convinced that Jasper Vermont forced that man to sell the race, as though I had the confession on paper.  Still, I will say no more; you are young, and ‘Youth knows All.’  Find out for yourself the man’s character, I shall not warn you again.  You are placing your faith in a thankless cur; don’t grumble when he turns round and bites the hand that has helped him.  As for me, I will wait.  Believe me, I would far rather know myself to be wrong than deal you any further unhappiness, so let us drop the subject for a time.  I did not mean to bring up the man’s name.  I want to speak to you of far more important things.”