The scene in the ballroom was dazzling. Such brilliant functions are rarely witnessed in England; putting aside the vast well-proportioned hall, its blazing chandeliers and banks of tropical flowers and palms, the company was unique—crowds of pretty women and girls in fresh smart gowns, officers in all sorts of uniform, from the ordinary volunteer in black and silver to a gorgeous Golconda Lancer. There were present many nobles from the city, wearing magnificent satin and brocade coats encrusted with gold embroidery, their turbans glittering with aigrettes of diamonds, their throats encircled with enormous pearls, their belts a mass of precious stones. These—members of the Court of the Nizam—were merely ornamental and dignified spectators.
Most of the other guests were swinging round and round to the strains of a delightful waltz, swaying and revolving in time to the beguiling violins. What a riot of colour and movement, of costumes and figures!
With difficulty we made our way to the end of the room to speak to Lady Ryder, and there we halted for a moment and looked about us. A waltz was over and people were walking about or talking in groups. I noticed Mrs. Lakin in a much-creased black velvet, old-fashioned Swami ornaments and two-button kid gloves.
“She hasn’t had a new dress since she married her daughters,” explained Mrs. Soames, who was herself excessively smart in a mauve confection direct from Jay’s. “She rarely goes out,” she continued, “but feels it a duty to be present on this occasion. I expect she will sneak off home before supper.”
Mrs. Wolfe flared by in a wonderful orange garment; she was looking unusually brilliant, her black eyes blazing with excitement. Partners were beginning to discover me, and in a short time my programme was crowded, even “extra extras” were bespoke. The band was playing another delicious waltz, and I was soon swimming round with Ronnie, an absolutely perfect partner—we always danced the first waltz together. My next was with Roger Arkwright; after him with Captain Gloag the adjutant, a stiff formal individual who invariably wore a harassed and careworn expression. Captain Gloag was succeeded by Captain Falkland, who had coolly put himself down for two waltzes and the supper dance. Although we had met pretty often at polo, tennis parties, gymkhanas and the boat club, yet, since that day at Moul Ali, we had never had any really serious conversation. Recently he had been away with the general on a tour of inspection, and had only returned to Secunderabad on the night of the ball.
Just towards the end of our second waltz we were resting after a long round, looking on at the gay and whirling crowd and remarking on various people. There was Colonel Grey gyrating with Mabel, and Roger Arkwright leaning against the wall following the couple with an expression that was all but murderous. Suddenly I was accosted by Mr. Balthasar, glossy, prosperous and heavily scented, wearing an enormous diamond as a shirt-stud, and a pair of skin-tight lavender gloves. We had in a way patched up a truce, and he had actually dined with us at No. 30—but not to meet my present partner. Having bowed himself before me, he said:
“As I was so unfortunate as to find your programme full, my very good friend your brother has given me his second dance, which I think is number fourteen?”
For a moment I was speechless with annoyance, and then I said: “I didn’t know there were such things as second-hand dances.”
“Oh, yes, when charming young ladies are in great demand such things can be arranged. Will you not dance number fourteen with me?”
“What is it?” I asked brusquely, “a square?”