GARDEN-PARTY AT THE RESIDENCY 41 



The Royal countenance is of a greyish-yellow hue, 

 and marked with all sorts of queer lines and creases. 

 Sir Pratap Singh is probably thinking of garden 

 parties of the future, when the detested railway will 

 bring still greater crowds to the gatherings. And 

 what will be the good of holding the rank of an 

 English Major-General then ? 



The Prince very soon takes his departure. As a 

 matter of fact that is all he came for, in spite of his 

 quite palpable respect for the Resident, for Lady 

 Younghusband, and especially for Miss Eileen, whom 

 he pets in a grandfatherly fashion, and than whom 

 he is only the height of his puggree taller. 



The Maharaja has gone, but the sun is still 

 shining in all his glory between the heavens and the 

 earth, whilst higher up floats the moon, just a pale 

 little circle. Nevertheless it is enough to warn the 

 guests that it is time to go, and one after the other 

 says good-bye to Her Excellency. 



Like a good fairy, but with Imperial dignity, 

 Lady Younghusband presses the hand of each de- 

 parting guest, graciously smiling, whilst her voice 

 melts harmoniously as she adorns her farewell words 

 with precious stones of flattery. And yet her 

 thoughts are far away from Srinagar, at the court 

 of Louis XVI. She does not see the giants of the 

 Himalayas she hears nothing but the ghostly, 

 whispering music of the splashing fountains of 

 Versailles. 



