My chaperon was a first-rate bridge player; she smoked unlimited cigarettes, used slangy expressions and was more at ease and in "mental undress" than Aunt Mina would have approved. However, she was undoubtedly happy; as I watched her eager radiant face I could not help thinking of some poor pot-bound thirsty flower that had at last received freedom and moisture!
The young men worshipped my companion; no doubt they were flattered by her notice and her sympathetic manner; she was always so beautiful, so vital and so gay. Once or twice I found myself wondering at what she saw in _them_. They were very young and, even in my callow opinion, rather dull and uninteresting. I came upon the answer to this question (if answer it was) in rather an unexpected form. One morning, after one of these weekly parties, I happened to open the old bureau in order to hunt for a piece of sealing-wax, and there, stuffed under bridge markers, cards and scraps of paper covered with figures, I discovered coins and notes to the amount of three hundred rupees!
I must confess that the find was a shock. I had never seen what is called "real gambling." Was this the first nod from our family skeleton, or was it merely the housekeeping funds accidentally muddled up with cards and paper? Mrs. Hayes-Billington was so foolishly careless of money and jewellery, and rarely kept them under lock and key. The only possessions she ever locked up were her letters.
The general's daughter and I became companions and fast friends. We went sketching together, though our poor attempts were libels on the wonderful scenery we attempted to transfer to paper. Besides Dolly Dane there were numbers of nice girls in the station. For instance, Belinda and Sylvia Brabazon, known as "Billy" and "Silly"--for India is no respecter of names!--a plain little couple, matchless tennis players and cotillion leaders, tirelessly good-natured and energetic. Their mother, an amazingly vigorous matron, looked like their elder sister. Colonel Brabazon's activities were confined to collecting butterflies, and telling "good" stories in the club smoking-room. No picnics or dances were considered complete without his belongings.
The commissioner's wife, Mrs. Clayson, a kindly but lethargic lady, was weighed down by the cares of a large small family, and took no part save that of spectator in any social gaieties. Then there were Major and Mrs. Wray of the Grey Hussars, a particularly smart couple, who enjoyed the reputation of giving the best dinners in Silliram, to which none but what I may call the "_crème de la crème_" were invited.