Dhooleys, being simply palanquins or litters, the Indian reader may imagine--as a little fun goes a long way when "up country"--how the mistake was laughed at, and how it made old Elphinstone laugh so severely, that all became seriously alarmed lest a catastrophe might occur; but ere long his dhooley was announced, and the party began to disperse; and Denzil, the last to leave, lingered a moment behind his two friends. "The band--you have heard--plays at two to-morrow," said Rose, in low voice. There was a fleet glance exchanged, a swift, soft pressure of the slender fingers, and in these words an appointment--an assignation--was made, causing Denzil's heart to beat wildly with joy as he hurried after Waller and Polwhele, full of dread lest they should have discovered his secret understanding with Rose and proceed to rally him thereon. As it was, he did not escape; for as they walked leisurely towards their quarters in the fort, Waller began thus. "I have been dying for a quiet cigar! By the way, what does some poetical fellow (Byron, is it?) say--that love is of man's life a thing apart--but woman's whole existence? I don't know the truth of the statement; but anyhow, flirtation or man-slaying is a part of the 'existence' of Rose Trecarrel; so, look alive, Denzil, my boy, or you'll have but a poor chance, if the order to move down on Jellalabad don't come soon. It is all very well for subs to be spooney; but rather absurd for one to be entertaining 'views,' you know." "You seemed soft enough on her sister, at all events," retorted Denzil, angrily. "It is a maxim of mine," replied Waller, caressing his fly-away whiskers alternately, "that 'a little bit of tenderness is never misplaced, so long as the object is young, pretty, and, still more than all, disposed for it.' But, Denzil Devereaux, that girl amuses herself with you, and orders you about, as if you were a Maltese terrier, a poodle, or a sepoy." "By Jove! the Trecarrels are handsome, though," said Polwhele; "and if I had not acquired the habit of making love to a pretty face, merely as a pastime, I fear I should soon be doing it in downright earnest to Rose." Now as Polwhele was a dangerously good-looking fellow, Denzil felt nettled by his complacent remark. "But," added the former, "I have met scores of such girls wherever I have been quartered--at home, I mean--especially in London; just the kind of girls to do a bit of Park with; to open a pedal communication with, in mamma's carriage, or meet in a crush where Gunter's fellows have brought the ices; where Weippart's band invites to the light fantastic; and where there are covert squeezes of the hand in the Lancers, on the stairs, or under the supper tablecloth, flirtations in the conservatory, and soft things said between the figures of a quadrille, or in the breathing times of a round dance, when weary of chasing 'the glowing hours with flying feet.'" "By Jove! Jack, how your tongue runs on!"