Quite a society in ourselves we were. Of course as a brigadier's lady I show no preferences, but still I have my feelings."
As for Yorke, his first impulse was to hasten to the residency to learn at least the worst, and with a faint hope at the bottom of his heart that Miss Cunningham might have some consolation to offer. A call there was due after the dinner-party, and it had been a struggle for the young man to put it off for so long. Accordingly Nubbee Buksh's buggy and horse were again put into requisition, and soon after breakfast he drove over to the residency, full of a deep yearning, as he controlled the erratic movements of that wayward animal, to give some utterance to the feelings that oppressed him. Did she know of his passionate love for her, then surely any impulse to laugh at him or the regiment would be changed to a feeling of sympathy.
Alas! on driving under the great portico he was met by the announcement that the "door was shut," the Indian version of the more euphemistic "not at home;" and there was nothing left to Yorke but to return to cantonments, downcast and disappointed. Life seemed for the time an utter blank. There was no excuse left for paying another visit, and little chance of meeting the lady anywhere else. There only remained now the steeplechase. In that, at least, he might hope to wipe out the ridicule thrown on the regiment and himself.
CHAPTER X.
The coming steeplechase was a novelty imported for the first time into the Mustaphabad annual race-meeting. That favourite station being situated in a sandy plain which extended in perfect flatness for many days' journey in every direction, covered at one season of the year with luxuriant corn in fields quite unenclosed, and separated by marks distinguishable only by the villagers, and for the rest a sandy desert dotted with villages and thinly sprinkled with acacia-trees — a country of this sort was not favourable for the development of hunting, and had witnessed hitherto no more lively sport than coursing. The race had been got up indeed mainly at the instance of a couple of sporting subalterns in another native-infantry regiment, joint proprietors of an aged Australian mare, known to be sure at her fences if her legs would only hold out; and it was to come off as the final event of the second day's meeting, Colonel Tartar having offered a cup for the winner in addition to the stakes.
The entries were comparatively numerous, considering that not many horses at the station had ever had the opportunity of being put at a jump, and that a rumour that Colonel Falkland meant to run his Irish mare had kept out several intending competitors, as nothing would have had a chance against her. And when the entries were closed, at the race-ordinary held at the subscription-rooms the evening before the meeting, no less than six entries were declared for this particular event. Lunge, the riding-master of the hussars, had entered an old Cape horse reputed to have been good with the Meerut fox-hounds; Stride, of the horse artillery, a stud-bred horse, his second charger; Chupkin, of the irregulars, a country-bred mare, usually ridden by his wife — if Mrs. Chupkin would ride it herself, said the knowing ones, she would be sure to win — a feather-weight, and with nerve for anything; young Scurry, the moneyed man of the hussars, a newly-purchased chestnut Arab, the handsomest charger in the regiment, but a trifle impetuous; the confederates, Messrs. Egan and M'Intyre of the 80th N.I., the Australian mare above referred to, which had arrived mysteriously at the station a few days before; the list being closed by a friend's horse.
Yorke had never been present at a race-ordinary before, his experience having been confined hitherto to what are known as single-corps stations, garrisoned by one regiment of native infantry, where race-meetings were unknown; and he felt a little nervous as he entered the barnlike assembly rooms where the meeting was held, with fifty rupees in his pocket for the entrance-stakes. His announcement evidently took the company by surprise; for although the hurdles in his compound told a tale to his neighbours, his recent purchase had not attracted much attention, and the fact of his ownership of a horse of any sort was not generally known. "It's not a tattoo race, young man," observed M'Intyre, who was standing by the little table at which Westropp of the irregulars, the honorary secretary, was recording the entries; "ain't you making a mistake?"
"There's nothing against tats in the rules," said Westropp, before Yorke had time to speak; "you may enter a donkey if you like, M'Intyre; "whereat the laugh was turned against M'Intyre, and Yorke felt grateful to Westropp for coming to
