multi-millionaire. A Sheeny, of course."

"Who's the woman he's dancing with?" asked the Gunner. "Jolly
good-looking she is."

"That's Mrs. Norton, wife of a Political somewhere in the Presidency.
Rosenthal's always in her pocket since he met her at Mahableshwar."

As the dance ended the many couples streamed out of the ballroom and
made for the _kala juggas_--the "black places," as the sitting-out spots
are appropriately termed in India from the carefully-arranged lack of
light in them. Mrs. Norton, looking very lovely as Mary, Queen of Scots,
and her partner crossed the verandah and went out into the unlit garden
in search of seats. The first few they stumbled on were already
occupied, a fact that the darkness prevented them from realising until
they almost sat down on the occupants. At last in a retired corner of
the garden Rosenthal found a bench in a recess in the wall. As they
seated themselves he blurted out roughly:

"I'm sick of all this, Vi. When do you mean to give me your answer? I'm
damned if I'm going to hang on waiting much longer. I'm fed up with
India and the Army. I mean to cut it all."

"Well, Harry, what do you want?" asked his companion, smiling in the
darkness at his vehemence.

"Want? You. And you know it. I want to take you away from this rotten
country. What's all this----," he waved his hand towards the lighted
ballroom, "compared to Paris, Monte Carlo, Cairo, Ostend when the races
are on? Let's go where life is worth living. This is stagnation."

"Oh, I find it amusing. You forget, we women have a better time in India
than in Europe. There are too many of us there, so you don't value us."

"Better time. Oh, Law! What rot!" He laughed rudely. "You've never lived
yet, dear. Look here, Vi. My father's one of the three richest men in
South Africa; and all he's got will come to me some day. As it is he
gives me an allowance bigger than those of all the other men in the
regiment put together. I hate the Service and its idiotic discipline. I
want to be free--to go where money counts. Damn India!"

"Doesn't it count everywhere?" she asked, fanning herself lazily. His
rough, almost boorish, manner amused her always. She felt as if she were
playing with a caged tiger. "Doesn't it here?"

"No; in the Army they seem to think more of some damned pauper who comes
of a 'county family,' as they call it, than of a fellow like me who
could buy up a dozen of them. I hate them all. And I mean to chuck i