him, was eminently sweet to look upon. She was very young. She leaned a
little forward, and in the pose of her delicate figure and the carriage
of her pretty head--under its burden of pale pink and grey feathers,
flowers, and lace--he detected further example of that engaging anxiety
to please. They made a delightful young couple, the fair seeming of this
life and riches of it very much on their side. Mr. Iglesias' chivalrous
heart went out to them in silent sympathy and benediction; while, the
block being over, his gaze continued to follow them as long as the young
girl's slender white-clad back and the young man's flushed and eager face
remained distinguishable. Then he started, for he was aware that his
unbidden companions had received unexpected reinforcement. A third guest
had arrived, and looked hard and critically at him. It's name was Old
Age, and he found something sardonic in its glance. With all his
gentleness of soul, all his innate self-restraint, there remained
fighting blood in Dominic Iglesias. Therefore, for the moment,
recognising with whom he had to deal, a light anything but mild visited
his eyes, and a rigidity the straight lines of his chin and lips. Old Age
is a sinister visitant even to those who are moderate in demand and clean
of life. For it gives to drink of the cup not of pleasure, but merely of
patience, of physical loss and intellectual humiliation; and, once it has
laid its spell upon you, you are past all remedy save the supreme remedy
of death. And so, at first sight, Iglesias rebelled--as do all men--
turning defiant. Then, being very sane, he gave in to the relentless
logic of fact. Silently, yet with all courtesy, he acknowledged the
newcomer, and bade it be seated along with the rest. While, after brief
pause to rally his pride, and that courage which is the noblest attribute
of pride, he turned to things concrete and material once more, finally
addressing himself to the omnibus driver:

"Pardon me; polo, as I understand, is a species of game?"