you had been dining with him the evening before, and gave a very good account of you." And the pang of jealousy that Yorke felt at hearing of Colonel Tartar's visit was sufficiently allayed by the reflection that Miss Cunningham had been thinking and talking about him. Stopping first to post his sentries, he then with elated heart followed his hosts in their visit to the stables, where the young lady fed her Arab with bread and lucerne grass, reserving, however, some morsels for Devotion, while Yorke looked on in an ecstasy of pride. Thence they strolled into the garden, and wandered about till it was dusk and time to dress for dinner.
The house, flat-roofed, formed a great square block, one storey high, the floors raised about four feet from the ground, the public rooms in the centre, the sleeping-rooms opening to the spacious veranda which extended round the house. Yorke's room, which seemed big enough to take in the whole of his bungalow, was entered from the east veranda by two enormous doors, which served also as windows: a door on the opposite side communicated with the drawing-room. Miss Cunningham's own room, no doubt, would be on the west side, and the thought that she was occupying the same house made the whole building seem sacred; and the young man dressed himself for dinner with a sort of pious awe.
On entering the drawing-room, now dimly illuminated — for it required a great wealth of lamps and candles to light up this great salon properly, an expenditure reserved for large parties — Yorke made out that there was another person present, who proved on closer acquaintance to be Captain Sparrow. That gentleman received him with languid affability, observing that he supposed there was a good deal of duty in the way of treasure-escort and work of that sort, which must be an agreeable relief from the monotony of cantonment life. Then presently Miss Cunningham entered in a dinner dress of silk, for the evenings were still chilly. Surely, thought Yorke, each change of toilet is more becoming than the last. Then came the commissioner — Colonel Falkland had returned to his own province — and dinner being announced, they repaired to the breakfast-room, always used for small parties or when the family were alone, and which with its small round table, well lighted up, looked bright and cheerful by contrast with the dim drawing-room, — Captain Sparrow conducting the lady, Yorke and the commissioner following.
The dinner was very quiet: the commissioner was taciturn, according to his wont; while Yorke was almost too happy for conversation, nor did the brilliant epigrammatic turns of speech which would alone have been worthy of utterance in the presence of the beautiful hostess, come readily uppermost. Sparrow, however, in his languid way was talkative enough, and Yorke observed with secret complacency that Miss Cunningham was evidently amused at his harmless vanity and his affectation of refinement. The same sense of humour, he thought, was apparent in the earnestness with which, after their return to the drawing-room, she pressed him to sing, going to the piano and beginning the accompaniment of one of his songs; when the captain, nothing loath, stood up beside her and warbled forth a ditty in his approved style. His song ended, the commissioner led him away to the adjoining billiard-room, then followed for Yorke a blissful half-hour, while Miss Cunningham sang to him, on his pressing her, one song after another; and as the young man stood by her side, watching her face, the one point of light in the great dim chamber, they seemed so entirely alone, and he was so borne along on the tide of emotion aroused by the tender accents of her voice, and the nearness of her person, that his humility and bashfulness for once forsook him. Surely, he thought, all this hope cannot be born altogether of delusion. In that gentle breast there needs must be some responsive sympathy with so much devotion, which only awaits an appeal to be called forth: and in another moment Yorke might have fallen at her feet to pour out his tale of love, his hopes, his fears, his sense of unworthiness to aspire to the priceless reward he sought for, when a voice was heard at the other end of the room, that of Mr. Cunningham, asking them to come and join in a four-game, repressing the ecstasy of passion which was on the point of finding utterance. And the words which were rushing to his lips remained unspoken.
The glare of the billiard-room, with its unromantic accessories of settees and cigars, acted like a disenchantment to recall our subaltern to the prosaic realities of every-day life; but he found some compensation for the descent on its being settled that he was to be Miss Cunningham's partner. In billiards, at any rate,
