“Yes, I know that he races, and is, I believe, rather lucky on the turf.”

“You have no inclination that way, Major Mallett?”

“Not a shadow,” he said, earnestly.  “It is the very last vice I should take to.  I have seen many cases, in the service, of young fellows being ruined by betting on the turf.  We had one case in my own regiment, in which a man was saved by the skin of his teeth.  Happily he had strength of mind and manliness enough to cut it altogether, and is a very promising young officer now, but it was only the fact of our embarking when we did for India that saved him from ruin.

“The man who bets more than he can afford to lose is simply a gambler, whether he does so on racehorses or on cards.  I have seen enough of it to hate gambling with all my heart.  It has driven more men out of the service than drink has, and the one passion is almost as incurable as the other.”

Bertha laughed.  “I think that is the first time I have ever heard you express any very strong opinion, Major Mallett.  It is quite refreshing to listen to a thorough-going denunciation of anything here in London.  In the country, of course, it is different.  All sorts of things are heartily abused there; especially, perhaps, the weather, free trade, poaching, and people in whose covers foxes are scarce.  But here, in London, no one seems to care much about anything.”

“People in your set have no time to do so.”

“That is very unkind.  They think about amusement.”

“They may think about it, but it is all in a very languid fashion.  Now, in a country town, when there is a ball or a dance in the neighbourhood, it is quite an excitement; and, at any rate, everyone enters into it heartily.  People evidently enjoy the dancing for dancing’s sake, and they all look as if they were thoroughly enjoying themselves.  Whereas here, people dance as if it was rather a painful duty than otherwise, and there is a general expression of a longing for the whole thing to be over.”

“I enjoy the dancing,” Bertha said, sturdily.  “At least, when I get a really good partner.”

“Yes, but then you have only been three months at it.  You have not got broken into the business yet.”

“Nor have you, Major Mallett.”

“No, but while you are an actor in the piece, I am but a spectator, and lookers-on, you know, see most of the game.”

“What nonsense!  Don’t pretend you are getting to be a blase man.  I know that you are only about ten years older than I am—­not more than nine, I think—­and you dance very well, and no doubt you know it.”

“I like dancing, I can assure you, where there is room to dance; but I don’t call it dancing when you have an area of only a foot square to dance in, and are hustled and bumped more than you would be in a crowded Lord Mayor’s show.  My training has not suited me for it, and I would rather stand and look on, listen to scraps of conversation, watch the faces of the dancers and of those standing round.  It is a study, and I think it shows one of the worst sides of nature.  It is quite shocking to see and hear the envy, uncharitableness, the boredom, and the desperate efforts to look cheerful under difficulties, especially among the girls that do not get partners.”