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In Venice he built from the foundations the very rich and magnificent palace of the Cornaro family, near S. Polo, and restored another palace, also of the Cornaro family, which is by S. Benedetto all'Albore, for M. Giovanni Cornaro, of whom Michele was much the friend; and this led to Giorgio Vasari painting nine pictures in oils for the ceiling of a magnificent apartment, all adorned with woodwork carved and richly overlaid with gold, in that palace.

He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up. Because he saw me on the polo ground of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland.

I demeaned myself, and, as a barber, gave him a "smooth, dark face with its keen, frank eye, and firm jaw." Later on he looked in at the club and saw Freddy Vavasour, polo team captain, dawdling over grilled bone No. 1. "Dear old boy," began Van Sweller; but in an instant I had seized him by the collar and dragged him aside with the scantiest courtesy.

"Unless it's Mrs. Musgrave," observed Max drily. "She doesn't like the bounder," declared Noel with conviction. "Look here; sit down again! I've seen nothing of you yet." "No, I can't stop, thanks. I've said good-bye to everyone else, and time is up. Don't go and get smashed up at polo! If she doesn't want you now, she will very soon. Bear that in mind!" Noel's dark eyes shone.

They had forty or fifty polo ponies, for instance, and every spring the place was filled with polo men. At the depot they caught sight of Charlie Carter, in his big red touring-car. "Are you going to the Havens's?" he said. "Tell them we're going to pick up Chauncey on the way." "That's Chauncey Venable, the Major's nephew," said Oliver, as they strolled to the train.

In Society it seemed to be the one thing people really cared to talk about; men and women of middle age and average education might be seen together in corners earnestly discussing, not the question whether Servia should have an outlet on the Adriatic, or the possibilities of a British success in international polo contests, but the more absorbing topic of the problematic Aztec or Nilotic origin of the Teresa motiv.

With a very considerable proportion of the people upon farms, and still more in villages and small towns, the Fall hunt is the commanding interest of the year. This is the one athletic contest into which they enter heart and soul; it is foot-ball and yachting and polo and horse racing combined.

It was somewhere quite close to the frontier. Lady Granet was an Alsatian. He was to have gone out with the polo team, you know, to America, but broke a rib just as they were making the selection. He played cricket for Middlesex once or twice, too and he was Captain of Oxford the year that they did so well." "An Admirable Crichton," Major Thomson murmured.

"Now tell me about the polo tournament," and she sat back to enjoy his enthusiasm over something about which he was entirely posted.

Could playing polo with Winn, going out for walks in the rain, and helping to make saddles in Winn's musty, smelling den appeal to him with greater force than her society? He wasn't in love with any one else, and if men weren't in love with any one else, they were usually in love with Estelle. But with Lionel everything stopped short.

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