carried his inches, as he
bore his honours, like a man.

Raising his head, he encountered Mrs. Perceval's direct look. She bowed
to him with that regal air of hers that for all its graciousness yet
managed to impart a sense of remoteness to the man she thus honoured.

"I have been admiring your luck, Major Hone," she said. "I am told you
are always lucky."

He smiled courteously.

"Sure, Mrs. Perceval, you can hardly expect me to plead guilty to that."

"Anyway, you deserved your luck, Pat," declared Duncombe. "You played
superbly."

"Major Hone excels in all games, I believe," said Mrs. Perceval. "He
seems to possess the secret of success."

She spoke with obvious indifference; yet an odd look flashed across
Hone's brown face at the words. He almost winced.

But he was quick to reply. "The secret of success," he said, "is to know
how to make the best of a beating."

He was still smiling as he spoke. He met Mrs. Perceval's eyes with
baffling good-humour.

"You speak from experience, of course?" she said. "You have proved it?"

"Faith, that is another story," laughed Hone, hitching his pony's bridle
on his arm. "We live and learn, Mrs. Perceval. I have learnt it."

And with that he bowed and passed on, every inch a soldier and to his
finger-tips a gentleman.

II

"Hullo, Pat!"

Teddy Duncombe, airily clad in pyjamas, stood a moment on the verandah
to peer in upon his major, then stepped into the room with the assurance
of one who had never yet found himself unwelcome.

"Hullo, my son!" responded Hone, who, clad still more airily, was
exercising his great muscles with dumb-bells before plunging into his
morning tub.

Duncombe seated himself to watch the operations with eyes of keen
appreciation.

"By Jove," he said admiringly at length, "you are a mighty specimen! I
believe you'll live for ever."

"Not on this plaguey little planet, let us trust!" said Hone, speaking
through his teeth by reason of his exertions.

"You ought to marry," said Duncombe, still intently observant. "Giants
like you have no right to remain single in these degenerate days."

"Faith!" scoffed Hone. "It's an age of feather-weights, and I'm out of
date entirely."

He thumped down his dumb-bells, and stood up with arms outstretched. He
saw the open admiration in his friend's eyes, and laughed at it.

But Duncombe remained serious.

"Why don't you get married, Pat?" he said.

Hone's arms slowly dropped. His brown fa