The sound of voices in anger made him pause. He had come back to the verge of lights, to the limit of the dancing feet, and before him rose the ruins of what in the old days had been the hospital. The roof had fallen in, but the marble flooring, raised above the levels outside by a half-sunk foundation of cellars, was still in almost perfect repair. And here, after supper--the _al-fresco_ Lancers having proved so great a success--the mutiny group had chosen to improvise a ball-room. Such things are easily compassed in India, where an army of sweepers and servants appear in a moment. Once swept, it needed little garnishing; for the great wreaths of coral bignonia garlanded it from end to end, and even flung themselves across it here and there like rafters. As for lights, a few Chinese lanterns, torn from the trees and swung among the flowers, were sufficient for dancing; and who wanted more? Not these masqueraders, with whom, as the hours grew towards dawn, the fun had become fast and furious. The club-house, indeed, was now almost deserted, except by the line of carriages, and even this was lessening every minute. Supper itself appeared to have migrated to the open during Jack Raymond's stroll, for, to his intense disgust, he saw a table--with champagne bottles showing prominent--behind the flitting forms of the dancers; flitting unsteadily, unevenly, for they were trying the old valse, and a woman's voice rose above the laughter. 'Oh! do try and remember it is a _valse à deux temps_--you can't help treading on people's toes if you don't!' Jack Raymond had flung away his cigar at the sight of the table, and was going forward to object, forgetful of those angry voices, when they rose again close beside him. 'I insist on your coming home, Viva!--Mr. Lucanaster, sir, let my wife go!' 'Damn!' said Jack Raymond under his breath. Ha grasped the situation in a second and saw its hopelessness. 'Go 'way, sir--go 'way,' came in Mr. Lucanaster's voice; 'don't be foolish.' There was a faint elation as well as elision in the words; no more, but it seemed to make them sound more contemptuous. 'Yes; don't be foolish, Chris. I'm going to dance this valse with Mr. Lucanaster. You can go home if you like.' The woman's voice had the note of defiance in it which means danger; but Chris did not recognise the fact. He had been working himself up to this revolt all the evening, and now, having begun it, he went on in strict accordance to what he had settled with himself was the proper and dignified course to pursue. 'Sir,' he said, drawing himself up and speaking with great deliberation, 'you are a scoundrel, and I shall take the earliest opportunity of allowing you to prove the contrary if you choose. In the meantime, pray do not let us quarrel before ladies. I request you to unhand my wife.' It was not only a man who laughed, it was a woman; and at the sound Jack Raymond swore under his breath again, and slipped towards the voices.