“I shall be delighted to.  By the way, are you going to the gymkhana on the polo-ground tomorrow?”

“Yes, we are.”

Charlesworth turned to Noreen.

“In that case, Miss Daleham, perhaps you’ll be good enough to nominate me for some of the events.  As you have only just got here you won’t have been snapped up yet by other fellows.  I know it’s hopeless to expect Mrs. Smith not to be.”

Ida smiled, well pleased at the flattery, although, as a matter of fact, no one had yet asked her to nominate him.

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what to do,” answered Noreen.  “I’ve never been to a gymkhana in India.  I haven’t seen or ridden in any, except at Hurlingham and Ranelagh.”

Charlesworth made a mental note of this.  If the girl had taken part in gymkhanas at the London Clubs she must be socially all right, he thought.

“They’re just the same,” he said.  “In England they’ve only copied India in these things.  Have you brought your habit with you?”

“Yes; Mrs. Smith told me in her letters that I could get riding up here.”

“Good.  I’ve got a ripping pony for a lady.  I’ll raise a saddle for you somewhere, and we’ll enter for some of the affinity events.”

The girl’s eyes sparkled.

“Oh, how delightful.  Could I do it, Ida?”

“Yes, certainly, dear.”

“I should love to.  It’s very kind of you, Captain Charlesworth.  Thank you ever so much.  It will be splendid.  I hope I shan’t disgrace you.”

“I’m sure you won’t.  I’ll call for you and bring you both down to Lebong if I may, Mrs. Smith.”

“Will you lunch with us then?” asked Ida.  “You know where I am staying—­the Woodbrook Hotel.  Noreen is coming there too.”

“Thank you, I’ll be delighted,” replied the Rifleman.

“Very well.  One o’clock sharp.  Now we’ll say good-bye for the present.”

Charlesworth shook hands with both ladies and strode off in triumph to where Turner was awaiting him impatiently.

“Now, dear, we’ll go,” said Ida.  “I have a couple of dandies waiting for us.”

“Dandies?” echoed the girl in surprise.  “What do you mean?”

The older woman laughed.

“Oh, not dandies like Captain Charlesworth.  These are chairs in which coolies carry you.  In Darjeeling you can’t drive.  You must go in dandies, or rickshas, unless you ride.  Here, Miguel!  Have you got the missie baba’s luggage?” This to her Goanese servant.

“Yes, mem sahib.  All got,” replied the “boy,” a native Christian with the high sounding name of Miguel Gonsalves Da Costa from the Portugese Colony of Goa on the West Coast of India below Bombay.  In his tweed cap and suit of white ducks he did not look as imposing as the Hindu or Mohammedan butlers of other Europeans on the platform with their long-skirted white coats, coloured kamarbands, and big puggris, or turbans, with their employers’ crests on silver brooches pinned in the front.  But Goanese servants are excellent and much in demand in Bombay.