room, which occupied the centre of the building, deriving all its light from narrow clerestory windows shaded by blinds, and through the doors opening into the surrounding rooms, was somewhat gloomy in the daytime. Not, however, that young Yorke noticed these particulars, although the time was to come when he would be familiar with every corner of the building; for, entering straightway from the glare of Indian sunlight into comparative darkness, he was painfully conscious of making an entry deficient in dignity, as he stumbled against an ottoman, and then knocked his shins against a chair, before he became gradually able to make out the presence of the occupants of the drawing-room. Miss Cunningham, Mrs. Polwheedle, and two officers of hussars; and as the new-comers established themselves on chairs at the far side of a great gulf or open space, bounded on one side by a table, and on the other by a large ottoman, our subaltern became more than ever impressed with a sense of his unworthiness, while feeling, too, that his tight red shell-jacket contrasted disadvantageously with the easy grace of the long braided frock-coats of the other visitors. Moreover, although the latter had driven over, they were adorned with long glistening steel spurs, whereas the two infantry subalterns wore little insignificant appendages screwed into the heels of their boots, as befitted men of their branch of the service when on horseback, wholly without lustre or rattle, and good only for use. The road too had been dusty, and the wind high, and even a December sun is hot at midday, and poor Yorke was conscious that his face was flushed and dirty, contrasting unfavourably with the cool and orderly appearance of the two drivers, one of whom sat calmly sucking the top of his cane, while the other, with a pleased simper on his face, and playing with his laced cap, was talking easy nothings to the lady of the house. Nor did the conversation begin auspiciously. It was opened by Mrs. Polwheedle.
"You young gentlemen rode over on your tats, I suppose? The subaltern's tat, my dear Miss Cunningham — that is the name, you know, they give to a pony in this country — is the most useful animal you can imagine. It goes out any number of times a day, and does any quantity of work, but never gets tired. Every subaltern, you know, in this country keeps his pony, although how an ensign can afford to do it on his pay is a perfect wonder, with grain at sixteen pounds the rupee."
Poor Yorke felt himself getting redder than ever; but while casting about for a repartee which did not readily present itself, one of the hussar officers took up the cudgels.
"Subalterns don't always keep ponies, if you please, Mrs. Polwheedle; I have never had one since I entered the service: I prefer horses; so does Mr. Scurry here."
"Oh yes, of course," replied Mrs. Polwheedle with a smile, as if half-disposed to wrath, half-disposed to condescension; "I was not referring to cavalry officers; you gentlemen have your chargers, I know, and very pretty they look, but —"
"By the way," interrupted the aggressive Rowell, "that's not a bad-looking tat the brigadier has been riding lately — where did he get him from?"
"You mean his grey horse?" replied the lady, bridling up.
"Well, it isn't exactly a horse," continued the persistent Rowell; "it certainly ain't fourteen; I doubt if it's much over thirteen."
"Well, sir, and if it is not, pray what has the age of the horse to do with the matter?"
"Not thirteen years, Mrs. Polwheedle; I wasn't speaking about the pony's age, but about his height. However," he continued, seeing that the lady appeared to have had enough in the encounter, "it looks a good, useful, weight-carrying nag, and handy for getting off and on again — not far to travel either way."
This last remark might be said to complete the victory, for riding was not among Brigadier Polwheedle's strong points; but the lady was not prepared to surrender all at once the position she had assumed, so, turning again towards young Spragge, she said —
"So you have got a new commanding officer now — Major Dumble. He called on us yesterday, and seems a quiet, gentlemanly person. How do you like the change from Colonel Marshall?"
"Well, of course we are sorry to lose our dear old colonel; he had never been away from the regiment before."
"And why did he leave it to go to another regiment, then?"
"He had to make way for Major Dumble. The major, of course, had to come back to the regiment on promotion, because he couldn't hold his appointment
