"No? I believe he said something about it in his letter to me. He is always rather sudden," said Noel. "Too much beastly electricity in his composition for my taste." "Do you often hear from him?" Olga asked abruptly. "Once in a blue moon. Why?" His dark eyes interrogated her, but she would not meet them. "I just wondered," she said. "No. I scarcely ever hear," said Noel. "He wrote, I suppose, to tell me of your good uncle's advent. He had probably heard from my sister that some of us were stationed here. Anyhow I lost no time in getting myself transferred for the pleasure of making his acquaintance. I was inclined to regret the move just at first. It's rather a hole, isn't it? But the moment I saw you--" Olga stiffened slightly, and he at once passed on with the agility of a practised skater on thin ice: "I say, what a ripping little sportsman your uncle is! He is actually talking of taking up polo again. Did you know?" "Polo!" Olga stared at him. "Nick! How could he?" "Heaven knows! I suppose he would hang on with his knees, and swipe when he got the chance. He'd need some deuced intelligent ponies though." "He couldn't possibly do it!" Olga declared. "He mustn't try." "Think you can prevent him?" asked Noel curiously. "He won't if I beg him not to," she said. "Oh, that's how you manage him, is it? Does he always come to heel that way?" Olga's eyes flashed a loving glance down the table towards her hero. "There is no one in the world like Nick," she said softly. "It's good to be Nick," remarked Noel, with his impudent smile. "It's quite evident that he can do no wrong." She laughed and turned the subject. Nick was too near and dear to discuss with an outsider. They began to talk of polo. A match had been arranged for Boxing Day. Noel was a keen player, and had plenty to say about it. The Rajah was also a keen player, and after a little he disengaged himself from Colonel Bradlaw's endless reminiscences and joined in the conversation, which speedily became general. A display of fireworks had been provided for the entertainment of the guests, and when the long State dinner was over they repaired to a marble balcony that overlooked some of the Palace gardens. Will Musgrave came and joined Olga as she stepped out between the carved pillars. She greeted him with a smile of welcome. They were old friends. As a child she had known him before his marriage, though she had seen nothing of him since. There was something in the quiet strength of the man that appealed to her. He gave her confidence. "Well, Olga," he said, "how do you like India?" They stood together by the fretted marble balustrade, looking down upon the illuminated gardens that stretched away dim and mysterious into the night. Olga did not directly answer the question. "I am not really acquainted with her yet," she said.