“Who is the young hussar fellow with the V.C. and the scowl?”
“Walking down the room with the girl in green?” answered a quiet-looking man, who had taken the vacant place, and was critically scanning the menu.
“Yes, the same.”
“Oh, that’s Fairfax.” (Sensation at the supper-table.)
Sir Reginald having recovered his liberty, was on his way to seek for a fresh partner, when he came face to face with one of the Twenty-Ninth who had been his host at Cheetapore. After a few brief expressions of pleasure and astonishment, the dragoon asked the hussar where he was staying, etc.
“I hope I shall have the pleasure of being presented to your wife. She is here, is she not?”
“Yes, but she is dancing at present.”
“Point her out, please; I am most anxious to see her.”
“Coming this way, in the white dress, dancing with the Highlander.”
“Jove!” ejaculated the dragoon, when she had passed. An enormous amount of admiration was compressed into that one syllable.