He was of the White People, he declared.

He felt it, he looked it.

Even at that moment a portly gentleman of Lahore in a coloured turban and patent-leather shoes salaamed to him as he passed upon his horse.

"Surely," he thought, "I am one of the Sahibs.
This fool of a Commissioner does not understand." A woman passed him carrying a babe poised upon her head, with silver anklets upon her bare ankles and heavy silver rings upon her toes.

She turned her face, which was overshadowed by a hood, to look at Shere Ali as he rode by.