Between listening and talking, the moments flew; at last, the increasing heat, and the clamour of the coppersmith bird, awakened the pair to the fact that it was seven o'clock, and much too late an hour to be abroad; and then, as Miss Brewer's pony carriage boasted a hood, she offered a seat to her new acquaintance, and enjoyed the pleasure and triumph of conveying the rising civilian to his own door. She carried him off in every sense of the word, in fact—she was a particularly "taking" girl. This drive was the prelude to greater events—to meetings at dawn, to walks after dark, to little dinners, little presents,—and an engagement. Yes, it was quite true, Tilly Brewer, the unprepossessing, the dowdy, was about to marry the best _parti_ in Ramghur; and when the young ladies in the hills heard the tidings, they each and all registered a mental vow to remain below next season. It is so easy to make such resolutions when you are in a perfect climate. The talk of the engagement created an agreeable break in the long monotonous days, and mere acquaintances exhibited quite an affectionate interest in Tilly's trousseau, presents, and prospects. However, early in May, another topic cropped up which entirely eclipsed the marriage preparations, and afforded food for incessant discussion until the end of the rains; in fact, the story of "Mrs. Dawson's dresses" created such an uproar and commotion, that it got into some of the local papers, and every one of the letters home. Mrs. Dawson, the Judge's wife, was a prim, spare woman of a certain age—and, it was said, uncertain temper. She had a cool, stiff manner, and an air of critical aloofness that seriously discounted her popularity. This lady was Mrs. Wilkinson's most serious rival in the matter of dress, and if her taste was less artistic, and her ideas lacked courage, she employed a court milliner, and owned a long purse. It must be admitted that her toilettes were both varied and expensive. "Stiff and old-maidish," was Mrs. Wilkinson's verdict—for she never soared to that lady's daring transformations, and condemned her dazzling triumphs as "theatrical and loud." Twice a year Mrs. Dawson received a large box or two from home, containing a fashionable outfit for the approaching season, and the envious pangs the arrival of these treasures occasioned Mrs. Wilkinson, no one—no, not even her closest friend—had ever guessed.