in the Bois, and, as Number One in my team, I
shall have to hustle. Four stiff chukkers at polo are downright hard
work, Miss Vernon. By teatime I shall be a limp rag. I promised to play
nearly a month ago, and I cannot draw back now."

"Polo is a man's game, at any rate," she admitted.

"Would you care to see to-day's tie?" he asked eagerly. "We meet
Chantilly, and, if we put them out in the first round of the tournament,
with any ordinary luck we ought to run right into the semi-final."

She shook her head. "You unhappy people who have to plan and scheme how
best to waste your hours have no notion of their value. I must work
steadily from two till five. That means a sixteenth of my picture.
Divide two hundred and fifty by sixteen, and you have--dear me! I am no
good at figures."

"Fifteen francs, sixty-two and a half centimes," said he promptly.

She flashed a surprised look at him. "That is rather clever of you," she
said. "Well, fancy a poor artist sacrificing all that money in order to
watch eight men galloping after a white ball and whacking it and each
other's ponies unmercifully."

"To hit an adversary's pony is the unforgivable sin," he cried, smiling
at her, and she hastily averted her eyes, having discovered an unnerving
similarity between his smile and--Henri Quatre's!

They walked on in eloquent silence. The man was cudgeling his brains for
an excuse whereby he might carry her off in triumph to the Bois. The
girl was fighting down a new sensation that threatened her independence.
Never before had she felt tonguetied in the presence of an admirer. She
had dismissed dozens of them. She refrained now from sending this
good-looking boy packing only because it would be cruel, and Joan Vernon
could not be cruel to anyone. Nevertheless, she had to justify herself
as a free lance, and it is the role of a lance to attack rather than
defend.

"What do you occupy yourself with when you are not playing polo or
lounging about artists' studios?" she asked suddenly.

"Not much, I am afraid. I like shooting and hunting; but these Frenchmen
have no backbone for sport. Will you believe it, one has the greatest
difficulty in getting a good knock at polo unless there is a crowd of
ladies on the lawn?"

"Ah! I begin to see light."

"That is not the reason I asked you to come. If you honored me so
greatly you would be the first woman, my mother excepted, I have ever
driven to the club. To-day's players are mostly A