“Who, sir?” asked my friend, very innocently.
“Come, come, that won’t do, Mr. Slyboots,” said the colonel; “I know all about it; ha! ha! ha!”
“’Pon my honour, sir,” said Rattleton, blushing, “you are too enigmatical for me.”
“Capital,” said the colonel, who was in a bantering humour; “why, Prattle tells me it’s all settled, license written for, and that you are going to cart her[[25]] immediately—ha! ha! ha!”
I saw, of course, that all this had reference to the spinster with the fine eyes. Though my friend affected ignorance of the matter, he was evidently flattered by being made the subject of such an agreeable on dit.
Whilst this was going on, I was startled and surprised by seeing the head of a very pretty Indian lady, with jet black locks, large gazelle eyes, and a huge gold ring in her nose, pop from behind the purdah, or curtain, and the owner of which exclaimed, at the top of a very shrill voice, “Urree Dhyya Paundaunneelou.”[[26]]
The colonel said something rather sharply.
“To vau,” pettishly exclaimed the apparition, and the head and a pretty be-ringed hand were withdrawn, and immediately from an opposite door an elderly black duenna, with a pair of wrinkled trousers, or pajammas, and half-concealed by a cowl-like sort of muslin robe, marched in a stately manner, sans cérémonie, her anklet bells jingling, right across the apartment, with a huge metal box under her arm, which I afterwards learnt was a betel-box, and which it seems was the article which the colonel’s sultana stood in need of.
Egad, thinks I to myself, they order things in the East rather differently from what they do in the West.
After a little more conversation we took our leave, having previously received an invitation to dine the next evening with the quaint commandant.