I had now been a whole month with Mrs. Soames, and made many acquaintances--for instance, all the officers of the "Lighthearts"--and began to feel myself almost one of the regiment. I had also been made known to most of the people at the club and a number of girls--among these my particular friends were Emily and Mabel Grey, and we met almost daily.
As Quarter No. 30 was vacant I insisted upon moving into it. I hated to feel as if I were imposing, though I believe Mrs. Soames really liked me; I did my best to help her in every way I could, by writing notes, reading aloud--as her sight was indifferent--going messages down to the bazaar when she was busy, and shopping at Cursetjee's or Spencer's and various places in Oxford Street, Secunderabad. I liked Colonel Soames, too, but somehow he resembled the countryman and the claret--one never got much "forrarder." I rode with him, danced with him, and sang to him, but he was often preoccupied and inaccessible, and had no real interest in the world beyond the regiment. The regiment was his fetish; its fitness, smartness and fame were all he cared for, and I could see that he ruled his officers and men with an iron hand, encased in a somewhat thin velvet glove.
Hospitable Mrs. Soames was reluctant to part with me, although I was to be such a near neighbour. Quarter 30, or the end bungalow, faced towards Trimulgherry Rock. Our abode was a good size; three large lofty rooms, and two slips at either side. The compound was considerable; the late occupant had kindly started a vegetable garden, our avenue was lined with cork trees in flower, and the whole front veranda was enshrouded in luxuriant creeper. With fresh matting and pretty bamboo furniture, chintzes, cushions, and solid indispensables, Ronnie and I made the end bungalow very nice indeed. He took great pains in hanging pictures, putting up heads, and fixing draperies. Kind Mrs. Soames lent me some plate just for the time, as she had more than she wanted, and I could return it to her when the regiment went home. This was a move which I could not bear to contemplate, but I kept my thoughts to myself.
Ronnie and I instituted a most happy ménage. We shopped together in Oxford Street, and there picked up glass and china, lamps and stores. Our stables held a smart dog-cart and horse, my stud-bred grey and Ronnie's three polo ponies, which he also hacked. Our household consisted of a cook and _tannyketch_ (an individual who carries the market basket, plucks fowl, and is, in short, the kitchen slavey). There was Michael the big butler, a dressing _chokra_, my ayah--now happily situated in one of our go-downs, with a whole brood of relations--and the usual _mali_ and _bheesti_, etc.