Explore "The Sporting Chance" by Claude Askew on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Left alone, Mostyn drew his arm-chair nearer the fire, and settling himself comfortably, gave himself up to solitary reflection. The evenings were still fresh, for May had set in unseasonably, and a fire was by no means to be despised. It was, indeed, because the dining-room was the warmer of the two sitting-rooms that Mostyn had elected to occupy it that evening. Frazer, the man-servant, had long ago cleared the table, and so Mostyn did not expect to be disturbed.
Of course, as was only natural, his thoughts turned to Rada. And now, as he sat gazing into the fire, he knew that he had been very dense. That foolish stubbornness of his -- it was there that the blame lay. He had made up his mind that Rada's injunction was to be obeyed strictly and to the letter, and so he had put temptation behind him, even when his common-sense, combined with his racing experience, told him that the time had come to force the pace.