"I assure you I've enjoyed what you call my 'dreadful dusty walk,' Miss Miller," said Mallender, "and as far as I'm concerned, I'm sorry it's over; but you must be dead beat, and glad to be home."
And what a squalid home! (An exception, not the rule among military households in India, which as a rule are remarkably neat and trim; even where rupees are scanty, there is taste and refinement; but the Millers had always been an indolent, improvident, and self-indulgent couple, who found their pleasures abroad, whose abode was makeshift, and their motto "A short life, and a merry one." Now, after thirty-two years' service, Colonel Miller was about to retire on his pension—leaving behind him few well-wishers, and many debts.)
The mud garden, which intervened between gate and bungalow, held some sickly crotons, bushes of the shoe plant, and a variety of ragged kitchen rubbers, also not a few energetic hens—who were dusting themselves with commendable energy. The verandah was lined with pots of withered geraniums, and irritable-looking cacti; a green parrot in a bazaar cage hung between two pillars, talking scandal to his own grey claw. Here also were exposed piles of battered packing cases, old bullock trunks, wine cases, saddlery, and sprawling in a long chair, in his sleeping suit, reclined Colonel Miller, who was smoking a "Trichy" with an air of sluggish satisfaction.
"Hullo!" he shouted to someone within, "Barbie has come to grief!"
The announcement brought Mrs. Miller from the dark interior;—Mrs. Miller, in a soiled pink dressing-gown, bare feet in slippers, and hair in curling-pins. She stopped short, as if shot,—here indeed was Barbie, riding a strange animal, and accompanied by a man—young Mallender, of all people. He had seen her! Well, she must just brave it out!
Several lurking slovenly servants who had also witnessed the arrival, came slinking round a corner of the bungalow, in order to stare at the smart gentleman, and his fine horse.
"What has happened?" screamed Mrs. Miller, seizing a solar topee, and thrusting it on her head.
"Miss Miller has had a fall," replied her escort, putting two fingers to his helmet, "but it is nothing serious."
"And where's the horse?" she screamed.
"Oh, he got away,—I expect he is all right!" was the soothing response.