"Really? You like him well enough for that?" Max's voice was quite calm, even impersonal. He spoke as one seeking information on a point that concerned him not at all.

Again for a time Olga was silent while the deep flush slowly died out of her face. At last with a little gesture of confidence only observable by him, she slipped her hand under his arm. "I wasn't in love with him, Max," she whispered. "But--I think--perhaps I could have been."

He pressed her hand to him with no visible movement. "And now?" he said.

"Ah, no, not now," she murmured, half-laughing. "You have quite put an end to that."

They were interrupted. Colonel Bradlaw had just heard of their engagement from Daisy, and came up to make Max's acquaintance and to offer his pompous felicitations.

Before these were over the game began, greatly to Olga's relief. She took a keen interest in it, and marked the adroit celerity with which the Rajah's team took the field with anxiety. The Rajah himself was an excellent player, and he was obviously on his mettle. Moreover, his ponies were superior to those of the British team; and the odds were plainly in his favour.

"Oh, he mustn't win; he mustn't!" said Olga feverishly.

"Don't get excited!" Max advised. "Follow the example of Nick's Oriental friend in front of us. He doesn't look as if red-hot pincers would make him lose his dignity."

"Horrid old man!" breathed Olga.

And yet Kobad Shikan was conversing with Nick with exemplary courtesy, giving no adequate occasion for such criticism.

"Is he another _bete-noir_ of yours then?" asked Max.

She laughed a little. "Yes, I think he is detestable, and I believe he hates us all."

"Poor old man!" said Max.

All through that afternoon of splendid Indian winter, they watched the polo, talking, laughing, or intimately silent. All through the afternoon Nick remained with Kobad Shikan, airily marking time. And all through the afternoon Noel distinguished himself, whirling hither and thither, hotly, keenly, untiringly pressing for the victory. If the Rajah were on his mettle, so undoubtedly was he. He had never played so brilliantly before, and the wild applause he gained for himself should have been nectar to his soul. Yet to many it almost seemed that he did not hear it. He laughed throughout the game, but it was with set teeth, and once in a close encounter with the Rajah his eyes flamed open fury into the face of the Oriental as the latter swept the ball out of his reach.

It was a splendid fight, but the British team were outmatched. In the end, after a fierce struggle, they were beaten by a single goal.

Victors and vanquished came to the pavilion later and had tea with their supporters. But Noel did not return to Olga's side. He kept at a distance, surrounded by an enthusiastic group of fellow-subalterns.

Peggy, restrained by her mother from joining him, watched him with longing eyes; but she watched in vain. Noel did not so much as glance in their direction, and very soon he departed altogether with a brother-officer.

"Wyndham seems down on his luck," observed Major Forsyth, Noel's Major, to Daisy, to whom he had just brought tea. "He's no need to be. He played like a dozen devils."

She smiled with that touch of tenderness that all women had for Noel. "I expect he doesn't like being beaten, poor boy."

"He hasn't learned the art of taking it gracefully," said the Major.

"But he shouldn't show temper. It's a sign of coltishness that I don't care for."

"Ah, well, he's young," said Daisy, with a sigh. "He'll get over that."

Her thoughts dwelt regretfully upon the young officer as she returned with Peggy. She believed that she understood Noel better than anyone else did just then.

Peggy did not understand him at all, and was deeply hurt by her cavalier's defection. She did think he might have said good-bye to her before he went.

Will, meeting them at the gate of their own compound, laughed down his small daughter's grievance. "Do you really suppose he could remember a midget like you?" he asked, as he tossed her on to his shoulder. "You expect too much of us, my baby."

"You wouldn't have goed away like that, Daddy," she protested, locking her small fingers lovingly under his chin.

"Ah, well, I'm old, you see," said Will. "I've learned how to please--or should I say how not to displease?--you sensitive ladies."

"Did Mummy teach you?" asked Peggy with interest.

Will laughed with his eyes on his wife's face. "On that subject," he said, "she taught me absolutely all I know."

Daisy smiled in return. "I set you some hard lessons, didn't I, Will?"

she said. "Why, how late we are! I had no idea the evening mail was in.

Peggy, run to _ayah_, darling! Only one letter for me! Who on earth is it from?"

She took it up and inspected the handwriting on the envelope.

"It's a bold enough scrawl," said Will. "Some male acquaintance apparently."

"No one interesting, I am sure," said Daisy.

She opened the envelope as she stood, withdrew the letter, and glanced at the signature.

The next instant she flushed suddenly and hotly. "That man!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"What man?" said Will.

She turned to the beginning of the letter. "Oh, it's no one you know, dear. A man I met long ago at Mahalaleshwar--that time you were at Bombay, soon after we married. He was a shocking flirt. So was I--in those days. But he got too serious at last, and I had to cut and run. I daresay there wasn't any real harm in him. It was probably all my own fault. It always is the woman's fault, isn't it?"

She twined her arm in his, looking up into his face with a little smile, half-mocking, half-wistful.

He stooped to kiss her. "Well, what does the bounder want?"

"Oh, nothing much," she said. "Simply, he finds himself in this direction after big game, and, having heard of our being here, he wants to know if we will put him up for a night or two--for the sake of old times, he has the effrontery to add."

"Do you want him?" asked Will, the echo of a fighting note in his voice.

She smiled again as she heard it. "No, not particularly. I am really indifferent. But I think it would look rather silly to refuse, don't you? Besides, it would be good for him to see how old and staid I have become."

Will looked slightly grim. Nevertheless, he did not argue the point.

"All right, Daisy. Do as you think best!" he said.

She returned to her letter, still holding his arm. "That's very wise of you, Will," she said softly. "Then I suppose I shall write and tell him to come."

"What's the fellow's name?" asked Will.

Daisy turned again to the signature. "Merton Hunt-Goring. He was a major in the Sappers, but he has retired now, he says. He can't be very young.

He was no chicken in those days. I didn't really like him, you know; but he amused me."

Will smiled. "Poor darling! Your bore of a husband never did that."

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "Dear old duffer! When are we going for that honeymoon of ours? And what shall we do with Peggy? Don't say we've got to wait till she is safely married to Noel!"