Healthy young gentleman.  Fine fresh complexion.

     Sick young man.  His face a ghastly white.

No end of people whose skins are dull and characterless modifications of the tint which we miscall white.  Some of these faces are pimply; some exhibit other signs of diseased blood; some show scars of a tint out of a harmony with the surrounding shades of color.  The white man’s complexion makes no concealments.  It can’t.  It seemed to have been designed as a catch-all for everything that can damage it.  Ladies have to paint it, and powder it, and cosmetic it, and diet it with arsenic, and enamel it, and be always enticing it, and persuading it, and pestering it, and fussing at it, to make it beautiful; and they do not succeed.  But these efforts show what they think of the natural complexion, as distributed.  As distributed it needs these helps.  The complexion which they try to counterfeit is one which nature restricts to the few—­to the very few.  To ninety-nine persons she gives a bad complexion, to the hundredth a good one.  The hundredth can keep it—­how long?  Ten years, perhaps.

The advantage is with the Zulu, I think.  He starts with a beautiful complexion, and it will last him through.  And as for the Indian brown —­firm, smooth, blemishless, pleasant and restful to the eye, afraid of no color, harmonizing with all colors and adding a grace to them all—­I think there is no sort of chance for the average white complexion against that rich and perfect tint.

To return to the bungalow.  The most gorgeous costume present were worn by some children.  They seemed to blaze, so bright were the colors, and so brilliant the jewels strum over the rich materials.  These children were professional nautch-dancers, and looked like girls, but they were boys, They got up by ones and twos and fours, and danced and sang to an accompaniment of weird music.  Their posturings and gesturings were elaborate and graceful, but their voices were stringently raspy and unpleasant, and there was a good deal of monotony about the tune.

By and by there was a burst of shouts and cheers outside and the prince with his train entered in fine dramatic style.  He was a stately man, he was ideally costumed, and fairly festooned with ropes of gems; some of the ropes were of pearls, some were of uncut great emeralds—­emeralds renowned in Bombay for their quality and value.  Their size was marvelous, and enticing to the eye, those rocks.  A boy—­a princeling —­was with the prince, and he also was a radiant exhibition.

The ceremonies were not tedious.  The prince strode to his throne with the port and majesty—­and the sternness—­of a Julius Caesar coming to receive and receipt for a back-country kingdom and have it over and get out, and no fooling.  There was a throne for the young prince, too, and the two sat there, side by side, with their officers grouped at either hand and most accurately and creditably