“I’m fond of rackets and tennis. Your uncle has given me a general invitation to his courts. Do you think we could get up a game to-morrow--your uncle and I, and you and Miss Paske--or Mrs. Sladen?” “Yes; if we could get Mrs. Sladen.” “Not Miss Paske? Don’t you like her?” with a twinkle in his eye. “It is too soon to say whether I like her or not; but she did not think it too soon to ridicule my aunt to me.” “Well, Miss Gordon, I’ll tell you something. I don’t care about Miss Paske.” “Why?” she asked quickly. “Because she snubs me so ferociously. It was the same in Calcutta. By the way, how delighted she was just now, when you, with an air most childlike and bland, informed her aunt and most of Shirani of her pleasant little expeditions with young Joy.” “_Ought_ I not to have said anything?” inquired Honor, turning a pair of tragic eyes upon him. “Oh, that is so like me, always blundering into mistakes. But I never dreamt that I was--was----” “Letting cats out of bags, eh?” he supplemented quietly. “No, indeed; and it seemed so odd that she did not remember meeting me only three days ago.” “You were thoroughly determined that she should not forget it, and we will see if she ever forgives you. Here comes old Sladen,” as a heavy figure loomed in view, crunching down the gravel, and leaning on the railings in a manner that tested them severely, he looked down upon the gay groups, and six tennis courts, in full swing. Colonel Sladen had an idea that blunt rudeness, administered in a fatherly manner, was pleasing to young women of Miss Gordon’s age, and he said-- “So I hear you came up with the great catch of the season. Ha, ha, ha! And got the start of all the girls in the place, eh?” “Great catch?” she repeated, with her delicate nose high in the air. “Well, don’t look as if you were going to shoot me! I mean the millionaire--that fellow Waring. He seems to be rolling in coin now, but I used to know him long ago when he had not a stiver. He used to gamble----” “This is his cousin, Mr. Jervis,” broke in Honor, precipitately. “Oh, indeed,” casting an indifferent glance at Jervis. “Well, it’s not a bad thing to be cousin to a millionaire.” “How do you know that he is a millionaire?” inquired the young man coolly. “Oh, I put it to him, and he did not deny the soft impeachment. He has just paid a top price for a couple of weight-carrying polo ponies--I expect old Byng stuck it on.” “The fact of buying polo ponies goes for nothing. If that were a test, you might call nearly every subaltern in India a millionaire,” rejoined Jervis with a smile. Colonel Sladen merely stared at the speaker with an air of solemn contempt, threw the stump of his cheroot into a bush of heliotrope, and, turning once more to Honor, said--