Dropping her whip into the socket, she pulled up and presented her hand to Denzil, who, we fear, held it in his somewhat long, and it did not seem that Miss Rose Trecarrel was _very_ much inconvenienced by the proceeding; but he forgot who might be looking on--he thought only of the brilliant hazel eyes--the ever smiling mouth. "And you are here alone?" said he. "As you see. Papa is busy with the General--a move of all the troops down-country is spoken of as imminent soon; and Mabel is with Lady Macnaghten at the Residency, where I am to pick her up at the gate. Will you accompany us for a drive outside the cantonments?" "With pleasure," said Denzil, though this party of _three_ was not exactly what he had schemed out in his own mind--for he had contemplated nothing less than a solitary ramble with Rose amid the lovely and secluded alleys of the Shah Bagh, or Royal Garden, close by; but it was necessary to quit the crowd unnoticed, a movement not very easily achieved by a girl so showy and so well known as Rose Trecarrel; so they were compelled to linger a little, as if listening to the band. In the small circle of European society at Cabul, great circumspection was necessary--greater still before the natives, who, under the ideas inculcated by their race and religion, were apt to suspect the most innocent action permitted by the usages of society at home, and to misconstrue that which they could not understand--the perfect freedom and equality, the high position, honour and character, accorded to the English lady or the Christian woman, whether as maid, wife, or mother. Denzil was too inexperienced and too much in love to be otherwise than shy and nervous. He hesitated in speech, and actually blushed or grew pale like a girl who heard, rather than a youth who had a tale of love to tell. His voice became low, earnest, and tremulous. He could scarcely tell why the momentary touch of that graceful little hand, ungloved--for it _was_ ungloved now--made his heart thrill, for the presence, the sense, the language, and the glances of passion, were all new and confusing to him; while the brilliant girl--the lovely spider in whose net he found himself so hopelessly meshed--knew how to wear her armour of proof and shoot her love-shafts to perfection. The band now struck up a lively air, and dancing to its measure, through the crowd, which parted and made way for them, there came a group of some twenty Nautch girls, in their graceful Indian dress (all so unlike the swathed-up women of the Mussulmen), a single robe folded artistically about them, leaving one bosom and their supple, tapered limbs quite free. The leading Bayadere, though dark as copper, was indeed a lovely girl; but her jetty hair was all glittering with missee and silver dust.