The polo-ground at Lebong that afternoon presented an animated scene, filled with colour by the bright-hued garments of the thousands of native spectators surrounding it, the uniforms of the British soldiers in the crowd, and the frocks of the English ladies in the reserved enclosure, where in large white marquees the officers of Charlesworth’s regiment acted as hosts to the European visitors.  Down the precipitous road to it from Darjeeling came swarms of mixed Eastern races in picturesque garb, Gurkha soldiers in uniform, and British gunners from Jalapahar; and through the throngs Englishmen on ponies, and dandies and rickshas carrying ladies in smart summer frocks, could scarcely make their way.

When Mrs. Smith’s party reached the enclosure and shook hands with the wife of the Colonel of the Rifles, who was the senior hostess, Noreen was not troubled by the feeling of shyness that had assailed her at the Club on the previous evening.  She had the comforting knowledge that her habit and boots from the best West End makers were beyond cavil.  But she was too excited at the thought of the approaching contests to think much of her appearance.  Charlesworth took her to see the pony that she was to ride, and, as she passed through the enclosure, she did not hear the admiring remarks of many of the men and, indeed, of some of the women.  For in India even an ordinarily pretty girl will be thought beautiful, and Noreen was more than ordinarily pretty.  Her mount she found to be a well-shaped, fourteen-two grey Arab, with the perfect manners of his race; and she instantly lost her heart to him as he rubbed his velvety muzzle against her cheek.

The gymkhana opened with men’s competitions, the first event in which ladies were to take part, the Tilting and Tent-pegging, not occurring until nearly half-way down the programme.  Noreen was awaiting it too anxiously to enjoy, as she otherwise would, the novel scene, the gaiety, the band in the enclosure, the well-dressed throngs of English folk, the gaudy colours of the crowds squatting round the polo-ground and wondering at the strange diversions of the sahib-logue.  Charlesworth did well in the men’s event, securing two first prizes and a third, and Noreen could not help admiring him in the saddle.  He was a graceful as well as a good rider.  Indeed, he was No. 2 in the regimental polo team, which was one of the best in India at the time.

When the moment for their competition came at last and he swung her up into her saddle, Noreen’s heart beat violently and her bridle-hand shook.  But when, after other couples had ridden the course, their names were called and a billiard-cue given her, the girl’s nerves steadied at once and she was perfectly cool as she reined back her impatient pony at the starting-line.  The signal was given, and she and her partner dashed down the course at a gallop.  They did well, Charlesworth securing the two pegs and cutting the Turk’s head, while his affinity