“It’s only my daughter’s poetical way of speaking of our annual gymkhana,” explained Colonel Graham. “She has officiated so often that she feels shy. The real fact is,” he turned confidentially to Georgia, “Haycraft has loafed about here so much that he’s wretchedly stale this year, and Flora can’t bear to give a prize to any one else.” “No, no, papa; what a shame!” cried Miss Graham, blushing. “You see, Miss North, I have really done it a good many times, and I’m sure everybody would like to see some one new. Besides, I am engaged, you know, and--and----” “And it would make it more realistic if the opposing heroes felt they were really struggling for the Queen’s favour?” said her father. “Well, that’s easily managed. Intimate to Haycraft that unless he wins he’ll have to resign you to the successful competitor.” “But why ask me?” said Mabel. “Because there’s no one else,” replied Miss Graham quickly. “No, I don’t mean that; but my father says I ought to ask the Commissioner to give the prizes, and I don’t like him well enough. But he couldn’t possibly be offended if I asked you. It’s so obviously the proper thing.” “Now, why?” asked Mabel again, and the other girl blushed once more. “I saw you yesterday when you rode past our house,” she said shyly, “and I knew at once that you were the right person.” Mabel smiled graciously. Such open admiration from one of her own sex was rare enough to be grateful to her. “I am wondering what I should wear,” she said. “I have a little muslin frock----” “Oh!” said Miss Graham, evidently disappointed. “But perhaps--do you think I might see it?” “If Georgie and Colonel Graham will excuse us for a moment,” said Mabel rising, and she led the way to her own room, and summoned the smiling brown-faced ayah whom she had brought from Bombay. “Oh!” cried Flora Graham again, when the “little muslin frock” was displayed to her, but her tone was not now one of disappointment. The frock might be little, whatever that term might mean as applied to a gown, but it was not therefore to be despised. It was undoubtedly made of muslin, but it had a slip of softest primrose silk, and the glories of frills and lace and primrose ribbon which decked it bewildered her eyes. “It is lovely!” she said slowly; “and look how your ayah appreciates it. I wish mine ever had the chance of regarding one of my gowns with such reverential admiration! And what hat will you wear with it?” “They tried to make me have one swathed in white and primrose chiffon,” said Mabel indifferently, “but I knew I could never stand that. I shall wear this one with it.” She indicated a large black picture hat. “That will be perfect,” said Miss Graham. “It’s the finishing touch. Oh, you will--you must--give the prizes. That gown would be wasted otherwise. You will do it, won’t you?”