"Decidedly not," rejoined Miss Bloxam. "My curiosity has led me into a great indiscretion. But the game is getting interesting. Surely Jim's side are having the best of it now?" And Miss Bloxam, turning half-round in her seat, devoted her attention to the polo-players with laudable persistency. If Blanche Bloxam was showing herself somewhat childish and unreasonable--for there could be no doubt that the young lady had turned away from Lionel more or less in a huff--it must be remembered that she was very much in earnest in her love affair, that she was jealous of Sylla Chipchase, and that though she believed Lionel Beauchamp loved her, he had not as yet declared himself. She had foolishly, and perhaps whimsically, regarded this as a test question, and she had been answered in the negative. I do not know that she was out-of-the-way foolish. Maidens like Marguerite have played "He loves me, he loves me not," many a time with a flower; and Blanche's appeal was as wise as theirs, except in the one thing--you cannot quarrel with a flower, but it is very possible to do so with a lover. It is all very well for the gods to laugh at such quarrels, but those interested seldom see the humour of the situation, and in nineteen cases out of twenty the cause of their occurrence is trifling. The band of the Guards is ringing out the most seductive of valses. Silken robes sweep the grass, and soft laughter floats upon the summer air. The polo-players are once more in the full tide of battle. The gaily-coloured jerseys are now here, now there, in pursuit of the ever-flying sphere, for the temporary possession of which each player seems as covetous as Atalanta was of the golden apple. Ever and anon comes a short, sharp, furious _melee_, and then from its midst flies the ball, with three or four horsemen riding their hardest in pursuit; while the back-player of the threatened goal warily prepares for the attack that is impending unless some one of his comrades should succeed in arresting it. One of the fiercest of these _melees_ is now taking place in front of the promenade. From the confused surging knot suddenly shoots the ball, and skims along at an ominous pace in the direction of the goal of the scarlet and white. Jim Bloxam, slipping all the other players by a couple of lengths, leads the pursuit, with two of his antagonists riding their hardest to catch him. Jim makes the most of his opportunity, and it looks like a goal for the Hussars. He is riding a smartish pony, and feels that his followers will never catch him. He is bound to get first to the ball, and, if only he does not miss his stroke, should drive it clean through the goal-posts. But though he is so far right that he keeps his lead of his antagonists, there is another player to be taken into calculation, whom so far Jim has quite overlooked, and this is the crafty back-player of the scarlet and white men who is in charge of the goal. He is quite as alive as