The great day arrived at last. People in Shirani did not give long invitations, and Mrs. Brande, in her new pink brocade, wearing all her diamonds, and a cap with three lofty pink plumes, departed in good time along with her niece, who wore her new white silk, and brought her violin--by special request. Mrs. Loyd received them with effusion, the room was half full of the _élite_ of Shirani wearing their best clothes, and their blandest official manners. Honor noticed Major and Mrs. Langrishe, Sir Gloster Sandilands, Captain Waring, Mr. Jervis, Captain Noble, the Padre and his wife, the Cantonment Magistrate and his wife, the Colonel commanding the Scorpions, and many others. It was a most solemn official party. Presently the dining-room door was flung wide, and a magnificent servant salaamed and said-- “Khana, mez pur;” _i.e._ “dinner is served.” Mrs. Brande half rose from her seat, and smiled encouragingly at her host. But--what was this? He was offering his arm to an insignificant little person in black, who was barely thirty years of age, and a complete stranger! Mrs. Brande, as she subsequently expressed it, “turned goose-flesh all over.” What an affront, before the whole station, or at least the best part of it; and there was Mrs. Langrishe looking at her with, oh! such an _odious_ smile. Well, at any rate she would not give her the satisfaction of seeing her break down or fly out. That smile was a stimulant, and rising, after some moments’ distinctly perceptible hesitation--during which the spectators almost held their breath--she accepted the escort of the gentleman who had humbly bowed himself before her, and with a dangerous-looking toss of her plumes, surged slowly into the dining-room. She was conducted to a conspicuous place; but what of that? Nothing--no, not even a gilded chair, with a coronet on the back, would now appease or please her. Declining soup with a haughty gesture, she leant back and gazed about her scornfully. Yes, there was a distinct smell of Kerosine oil--one of the Khitmatghars wore a dirty coat; that was Mrs. Sladen’s claret jug, and most of the forks were borrowed. As for the dinner, she sent away dish after dish with ill-concealed contempt, slightly varying the monotony of this proceeding by leaving conspicuous helpings untasted on her plate--knowing well, that such behaviour is pain and grief to a hostess. Even the host noticed her scanty appetite, and remarked in his loud cheery voice-- “Why, Mrs. Brande, you are eating nothing.” “Indeed,” she leant forward and called out, “I’m so _far_ from you, I wonder you can notice it;” adding to this extremely ungracious reply, “I’ve no appetite _this_ evening,” and she flung herself once more back in her chair, and waved her fan to and fro, passionately--not to say furiously.