“An English race course doesn’t do after this, I can tell you. I went down to the Derby when I was at home, and such an assembly of riff raff I never saw before and never wish to see again.” “These people are more picturesque, Dr. Wade,” Mrs. Hunter said, “but that is merely a question of garment; these people perhaps are no more trustworthy than those you met on the racecourse at home.” “I was speaking of them purely as a spectacle; individually I have no doubt one would be safer among the English roughs and betting men than among these placid looking natives. The one would pick your pockets of every penny you have got if they had the chance, the other would cut your throat with just as little compunction.” “You don’t really mean that, Dr. Wade?” Isobel said. “I do indeed, Miss Hannay; the Oude men are notorious brawlers and fighters, and I should say that the roughs of Cawnpore and Lucknow could give long odds to those of any European city, and three out of four of those men you see walking about there would not only cut the throat of a European to obtain what money he had about him, but would do so without that incentive, upon the simple ground that he hated us.” “But why should he hate us, Doctor? he is none the worse off now than he was before we annexed the country.” “Well, yes, that class of man is worse off. In the old days every noble and Zemindar kept up a little army for the purpose of fighting his neighbors, just as our Barons used to do in the happy olden times people talk of. We have put down private fighting, and the consequence is these men’s occupations are gone, and they flock to great towns and there live as best they can, ready to commit any crime whatever for the sum of a few rupees. “There is Nana Sahib.” Isobel looked round and saw a carriage with a magnificent pair of horses, in harness almost covered with silver ornaments, drive up to a place that had been kept vacant for it. Four natives were sitting in it. “That is the Rajah,” the Doctor said, “the farther man, with that aigrette of diamonds in his turban. He is Oriental today, but sometimes he affects English fashions. He is a very cheery fellow, he keeps pretty well open house at Bithoor, has a billiard table, and a first rate cellar of wine, carriages for the use of guests--in fact, he does the thing really handsomely.” “Here is my opera glass,” Mrs. Hunter said. Isobel looked long and fixedly at the Rajah. “Well, what do you think of him?” the Doctor asked as she lowered it. “I do not know what to think of him,” she said; “his face does not tell me anything, it is like looking at a mask; but you see I am not accustomed to read brown men’s characters, they are so different from Europeans, their faces all seem so impassive. I suppose it is the way in which they are brought up and trained.”