“Ages of tyranny have made them supple and deceitful,” the Doctor said, “but of course less so here than among the Bengallies, who, being naturally unwarlike and cowardly, have always been the slaves of some master or other. “You evidently don’t like the Nana, Miss Hannay. I am rather glad you don’t, for he is no great favorite of mine, though he is so generally popular in the station here. I don’t like him because it is not natural that he should be so friendly with us. We undoubtedly, according to native notions, robbed him of one of the finest positions in India by refusing to acknowledge his adoption. We have given him a princely revenue, but that, after all, is a mere trifle to what he would have had as Peishwa. Whatever virtues the natives of this country possess, the forgiving of injuries is not among them, and therefore I consider it to be altogether unnatural that he, having been, as he at any rate and everyone round him must consider, foully wronged, should go out of his way to affect our society and declare the warmest friendship for us.” The Rajah was laughing and talking with General Wheeler and the group of officers round his carriage. Again Isobel raised the glasses. “You are right, Doctor,” she said, “I don’t like him.” “Well, there is one comfort, it doesn’t matter whether he is sincere or not, he is powerless to hurt us. I don’t see any motive for his pretending to be friendly if he is not, but I own that I should like him better if he sulked and would have nothing to say to us, as would be the natural course.” The bell now began to ring, and the native police cleared the course. Major Hannay and Mr. Hunter, who had driven over in the buggy, came up and took their places on the box of the carriage. “Here are cards of the races,” he said. “Now is the time, young ladies, to make your bets.” “I don’t know even the name of anyone in this first race,” Isobel said, looking at the card. “That doesn’t matter in the least, Miss Hannay,” Wilson, who had just come up to the side of the carriage, said. “There are six horses in; you pick out any one you like, and I will lay you five pairs of gloves to one against him.” “But how am I to pick out when I don’t know anything about them, Mr. Wilson? I might pick out one that had no chance at all.” “Yes; but you might pick out the favorite, Miss Hannay, so that it is quite fair.” “Don’t you bet, Isobel,” her uncle said. “Let us have a sweepstake instead.” “What is a sweepstake, uncle?” There was a general laugh. “Well, my dear, we each put in a rupee. There are six of us, and there are Wilson and the Doctor. You will go in, Doctor, won’t you?” “Yes; I don’t mind throwing away a rupee, Major.”