“A grave mistake,” agreed Mrs. Burton.  “It will not make us think any the more highly of her when she is married.”

“I am in two minds about calling on her,” declared Lady Harriet.  “I am very doubtful as to the advisability of inviting any one so obviously unsuitable into our inner circle.  Of course Mrs. Ralston,” she raised her long pointed chin upon the name, “will please herself in the matter.  She will probably be the first to try and draw her in, but what Mrs. Ralston does and what I do are two very different things.  She is not particular as to the society she keeps, and the result is that her opinion is very justly regarded as worthless.”

“Oh, quite,” agreed Mrs. Burton, sending an obviously false smile in the direction of the lady last named who was approaching them in the company of Mrs. Ermsted, the Adjutant’s wife, a little smart woman whom Tommy had long since surnamed “The Lizard.”

Mrs. Ralston, the surgeon’s wife, had once been a pretty girl, and there were occasions still on which her prettiness lingered like the gleams of a fading sunset.  She had a diffident manner in society, but yet she was the only woman in the station who refused to follow Lady Harriet’s lead.  As Tommy had said, she was a nobody.  Her influence was of no account, but yet with unobtrusive insistence she took her own way, and none could turn her therefrom.

Mrs. Ermsted held her up to ridicule openly, and yet very strangely she did not seem to dislike the Adjutant’s sharp-tongued little wife.  She had been very good to her on more than one occasion, and the most appreciative remark that Mrs. Ermsted had ever found to make regarding her was that the poor thing was so fond of drudging for somebody that it was a real kindness to let her.  Mrs. Ermsted was quite willing to be kind to any one in that respect.

They approached now, and Lady Harriet gave to each her distinctive smile of royal condescension.

“I expected to see you dancing, Mrs. Ermsted,” she said.

“Oh, it’s too hot,” declared Mrs. Ermsted.  “You want the temperament of a salamander to dance on a night like this.”

She cast a barbed glance towards Stella as she spoke as Monck guided her to the least crowded corner of the ball-room.  Stella’s delicate face was flushed, but it was the exquisite flush of a blush-rose.  Her eyes were of a starry brightness; she had the radiant look of one who has achieved her heart’s desire.

“What a vision of triumph!” commented Mrs. Ermsted.  “It’s soothing anyway to know that that wild-rose complexion won’t survive the summer.  Captain Monck looks curiously out of his element.  No doubt he prefers the bazaars.”

“But Stella Denvers is enchanting to-night,” murmured Mrs. Ralston.

Lady Harriet overheard the murmur, and her aquiline nose was instantly elevated a little higher.  “So many people never see beyond the outer husk,” she said.