Page:Littell's Living Age - Volume 126.djvu/119

Rh as a field-officer; and as he must come back to his own regiment, the colonel had to be shifted to another."

"Oh yes; the brigadier was telling me something about it. Major Dumble comes from the commissariat, does he not?"

"No, from the pay-department; he has been fifteen years away from the regiment."

"Well, I hope he is a good drill, and will take care to get the regiment into good order for inspection, for the brigadier is very particular. You must know, Miss Cunningham, that all the annual inspections are coming on. The brigadier has to inspect all the regiments in the station, and make a report on them to the commander-in-chief; this is a first-class brigade, you know, and so the brigadier reports direct to headquarters. You will enjoy these inspections, I am sure, and must not fail to come to them, especially the cavalry review, it is such a pretty sight. Isn't it, Mr. Rowell?" she added, turning towards that gentleman, and as it were holding out the olive-branch to him.

"Oh yes," replied Rowell; "the colonel generally knocks the regiment about a bit on these occasions — pursuing practice, and that sort of thing; it amuses the brigadier and the ladies."

Just then Miss Cunningham, opposite to whom Yorke was sitting, but a long way off, crossed over towards him. If she seemed beautiful before, the grace of her movements as she passed over the open space possessed the young fellow as with a sense of enchantment; while the rustling of her dress when she took the seat next to his raised a corresponding flutter in his heart, as he sat motionless, fascinated by her proximity, hardly venturing to look up, gazing at the folds of rich trimmings that fluttered beside him.

Yet there was nothing very formidable in her opening address. "These soldiers," she asked, "who mount guard by turns at our door, do they belong to your regiment?"

As Miss Cunningham said this in a low rich voice, which had in it an expression of unconscious pathos, and turning her long graceful neck, looked towards the listener, her manner was as if the question was full of interest for her, and her face, although it wore an open smile, seemed as one that might be readily attuned to sympathy with sorrow.

Yorke's acquaintance with young ladies was not large, and he had never met with anything like this before. Miss Glumme, one of the two young ladies imported into Mustaphabad in the previous season, never looked you in the face at all, but answered questions monosyllabically, and with downcast eyes, as if conversation was a thing unbecoming a woman; Miss Peart, on the other hand, a little brunette nowise afflicted with mauvais honte, jerked out her sentences with a sort of little laugh at the end of each, as if the mere act of saying anything in itself partook of the funny. But here was a young lady who appeared even when in society to take an interest in something. A queen, too, could not have been more gracious; and surely no queen ever looked more regal in her crown than did this beautiful young woman with a coronet of rich brown hair braided over her lofty head.

It was a simple question, but Yorke felt himself growing redder than ever, as he replied in the affirmative.

"I quite expected," continued Miss Cunningham, "to find the sepoys insignificant-looking creatures, with large soft eyes and big earrings. It was quite a surprise to see them so different. You must feel very proud of commanding such fine fellows."

"I don't command them, you know," replied Yorke; "I only command my own company — at least I hold two companies just now, as we are short of officers" — here the young fellow stopped with some confusion, for it suddenly seemed to him how vain he must appear to be, bragging about his duty in this way. Besides, what could a splendid creature like this care about the small organic details of a native infantry regiment, a thing regarded by society generally, and young ladies in particular for the first three or four years of spinsterhood — if it lasted so long — as altogether beneath serious interest?

Miss Cunningham, however, persisted in her inquiries. She had come to India, and wanted to know all about the country and the people, she said. The lascars on board the steamer were insignificant-looking people; but her papa's jemadar, who met her at Calcutta, had a most dignified appearance, and was so attentive and well-bred: although she could not understand a word he said, he seemed to know exactly what to do; and then he sat on the coach-box the whole way from Calcutta; she was really quite ashamed that he should be exposed to 