Chapter I

"Well played, Hone! Oh, well played indeed!"

A great roar of applause went up from the polo-ground like the surge and wash of an Atlantic roller. The regimental hero was distinguishing himself--a state of affairs by no means unusual, for success always followed Hone. His luck was proverbial in the regiment, as sure and as deeply-rooted as his popularity.

"It‘s the devil‘s own concoction," declared Teddy Duncombe, Major Hone‘s warmest friend and admirer, who was watching from the great stand near the refreshment-tent. "It never fails. We call him Achilles because he always carries all before him."

"Even Achilles had his vulnerable point," remarked Mrs. Perceval, to whom the words were addressed.

She spoke with her dark eyes fixed upon the distant figure. Seen from a distance, he seemed to be indeed invincible--a magnificent horseman who rode like a fury, yet checked and wheeled his pony with the skill of a circus rider. But there was no admi

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