‘Gad, sir!’ he said to the Commissioner, ‘I had no idea that you were able to get up your dances in this fashion. What a field of neat well-bred-looking flyers―I mean deuced pretty girls, and monstrously well dressed too. Puts me in mind of one of our Hurryghur dances. We used to have such jolly spurts at the old station before that cursed Mutiny spoiled everything.’ Mr. Neuchamp thought it was not so very much less imposing in appearance than a ball in Sydney; room not so big; perhaps a trifling flavour of the provinces. But the Bombay galop having struck up, the Colonel possessed himself of a partner of prepossessing appearance, through the good offices of the Commissioner, and sailed off at a great pace. Ernest lost no time in appropriating the eldest Miss Branksome, and reflection was merged in sensation. ‘I suppose you hardly expected to have any ball-going in this particular spot,’ said he to his partner, ‘a few years ago.’ ‘We should just as soon have expected to go to the opera and hear Tietjens,’ said Miss Branksome. ‘I have often ridden over this very spot with papa, and seen the wild horses feeding on the hill where the town now stands.’ ‘And you like the change?’ ‘I can’t say that we did at first. We fancied, I suppose, that the great invading army of diggers would eat us up, and we resented their intrusion. But they turned out very amiable wild beasts, and one advantage we certainly did not calculate upon.’ ‘What is that, may I ask?’ ‘The number of nice people that would accompany the army. Our society is ten times as large and pleasant as in old times. We are hardly a night without quite a small party of visitors. You see there are the commissioners, magistrates, bankers, and other officials, all gentlemen and mostly pleasant. Besides, the gold attracts visitors, like yourself, for instance.’ After a very satisfactory fast and unaffectedly performed galop, the susceptible Colonel joined them at the refreshment table, accompanied by a young lady with a wild-rose complexion and great dark eyes, who had been evidently dancing at a pace which had caused that mysterious portion of her _chevelure_ known (I am informed) as ‘back hair’ to fall in glossy abundance over her fair shoulders. ‘Splendid floor, Bessy,’ he said to his niece. ‘Capital music―partner beyond all praise!’ (Here the young lady looked up with smiling reproach.) ‘Fact! haven’t had such a dance since the last ball at Calcutta. There were two duels next day―about a young lady, of course’ (here the small damsel looked much concerned)―‘and poor O’Grady, who had heart complaint, but couldn’t control his feelings at a ball, died within the week.’ ‘Oh, how dreadful!’ said the little maiden, with a sincere accent of distress. ‘But nobody dies after a ball here, or fights duels either, that I ever heard of. Why should they in India, Colonel Branksome?’