What the Paris frock replied I do not know, as they were already hurrying up to make the most of the remaining dance.
Not that there was any necessity for hurry to judge by the number of times I saw his white raiment and her fancy frills floating round together during the next hour or so.
The Adjutant--a man I particularly disliked (possibly because he seemed to me the antithesis of young Bertram)--remarked on it also when he found me out seeking solitude in one of the latticed minarets.
"Going it!" he said, cynically. "He won't be quite such a young fool when he comes down from the hills."
I turned on him in absolute dismay. "The hills? but surely you're going on service?"
The Adjutant shrugged his shoulders. "Someone has to take over, and he'll soon console himself."
I felt I could have kicked him, and was glad that the "Roast Beef" called me to my duties as host.
They had laid the supper table where we had listened to the snake charmer's chant; somehow through all the laughter I seemed to hear that refrain going on: "Oh! God of the Battle! have mercy! have mercy! have mercy!"
What mercy would she show him? None. And what chance would he have in an atmosphere like that of Semoorie? None. Even the husband, whom rumour said was bullet-headed to some purpose, would be away.
We were very merry in spite, or perhaps because of, an insistent trend of thought towards impending change, and I was just about to propose the health of my guests with due discreet allusion to the still doubtful future when it was settled by the appearance of a telegraph peon.