“How are ye?  Ah—­yes, Mr. Isaacs, Mr. Griggs of Allahabad.  Jolly day, isn’t it?” and he looked vaguely at the grass.  “Really, Miss Westonhaugh, I got in such a rage with my rascal of a saice that I did not remember I was so near the house.  I am really very sorry I talked like that.  I hope you did not think I was murdering him?”

Isaacs looked annoyed.

“Yes,” said he, “we thought Mahmoud was going to have a bad time of it.  I believe Miss Westonhaugh does not understand Hindustani.”

A look of genuine distress came into the Englishman’s face.

“Really,” said he, very simply.  “You don’t know how sorry I am that any one should have heard me.  I am so hasty.  But let me apologise to you all most sincerely for disturbing you with my brutal temper.”

His misdeed had not been, a very serious crime after all, and there was something so frank and honest about his awkward little apology that I was charmed.  The man was a gentleman.  Isaacs bowed in silence, and Miss Westonhaugh had evidently never thought much about it.

“We were talking about polo when you came, Lord Steepleton; Mr. Isaacs and Mr. Griggs are going to play a match, and I am to hold the stakes.  Do you not want to make one in the game?”

“May I?” said the young man, grateful to her for having helped him out.  “May I?  I should like it awfully.  I so rarely get a chance of playing with any except the regular set here.”  And he looked inquiringly at us.

“We should be delighted, of course,” said Isaacs.  “By the way, can you help us to make up the number?  And when shall it be?” He seemed suddenly very much interested in this projected contest.

“Oh yes,” said Kildare, “I will manage to fill up the game, and we can play next Monday.  I know the ground is free then.”

“Very good; on Monday.  We are at Laurie’s on the hill.”

“I am staying with Jack Tygerbeigh, near Peterhof.  Come and see us.  I will let you know before Monday.  Oh, Mr. Griggs, I saw such a nice thing about me in the Howler the other day—­so many thanks.  No, really, greatly obliged, you know; people say horrid things about me sometimes.  Good-bye, good-bye, delighted to have seen you.”

“Good morning, Miss Westonhaugh.”

“Good morning; so good of you to take pity on my solitude.”  She smiled kindly at Isaacs and civilly at me.  And we went our way.  As we looked back after mounting to lift our hats once more, I saw that Miss Westonhaugh had succeeded in getting out of the hammock and was tying on a pith hat, while Lord Steepleton had armed himself with balls and rackets from a box on the verandah.  As we bowed they came down the steps, looking the very incarnation of animal life and spirits in the anticipation of the game they loved best.  The bright autumn sun threw their figures into bold relief against the dark shadow of the verandah, and I thought to myself they made a very pretty picture.  I seemed to be always seeing pictures, and my imagination was roused in a new direction.