Sue drove over to The Lilacs immediately after breakfast, the day of the Hadbury game--to find Genevieve still in a soft dressing-gown of cobwebby lace and pink ribbons, lazily sipping her chocolate. She held up a satin cheek to be kissed. “I’m on time, you see,” laughed Sue. “But don’t hurry. I’ve got the Lenox wagon and the bay ponies, and we’ll go a-zipping. How did the lawn fête turn out?” Genevieve did not look up, but broke her toast with tapering fingers. “I didn’t go,” she said carelessly, after a moment of silence. “Oh!” Sue’s tone was one of relief. “So you went to town, after all--Phil said you had. We hoped the dentist didn’t hurt you.” A shade of annoyance crossed the face of the other girl. Then, “He didn’t, thank you,” she said shortly, and got up to make ready for the drive. The two arrived at Hadbury in plenty of time. It was a perfect morning--the sun warm, the air soft and still, the sky cloudless--and the scene at the polo-field was a gay one. On one side of the rectangle rose the “ladies’ stand,” a grassy slope occupied by little groups of people who had come on foot; on the other side, at a discreet distance, was a line of vehicles. Sue guided her scampering ponies midway of the line, between two other teams. Phil came over to them for a moment. Others gathered, too, until there was a man for every spoke of the nigh front wheel, and dark-eyed Genevieve held a little court. There were no callers at the off wheel, and Sue had all her attention for the lines. So she protested to Phil against his having sent the red-haired, red-cheeked Shadow to stand at her horses’ heads. “I don’t need him,” she said, “and it makes the ponies cross to be held.” “Larry came of his own accord,” whispered Phil. “He’s an obliging lad, and he likes you.” At that, Sue brightened and observed the red-haired lad pleasantly. But Larry did not see her kindly glance. Standing straight, with heel to heel and a hand at either bit, his gaze was fixed in open, undisguised wonderment upon the beautiful Miss Unger. Soon the match began--and went superbly. To quote Mr. Hammond, it was “the greatest ever since the Persians played polo, by Jove!” Upon the vivid green of the field went the teams, playing a hard-galloping, hard-hitting game, in which Phil particularly distinguished himself. He rode the brown pony, and his sleeves were rolled up, his head was bare, despite the heavy sticks that described circles about him, his hair flew in the wind like a young Indian’s. Now his orders rang out sharp and clear--“Take the ball!” or “Back-hander there!” or “Ride the man and leave the ball!” And his mount sped up and down; his square-headed stick did skilful work. “It’s an education to watch him,” declared Sue enthusiastically, as a rousing bravo from a group of onlooking men went up, for Phil had just dashed in, changed places with Number Three and made a brilliant stroke.