He would have liked furiously to kick and trample upon that glossy emblem of the civilised world; he had much ado to refrain.

The syce carried back the silk hat to Shere Ali's smart trap, and Shere Ali drove home in his helmet.

Thus he began publicly to renounce the cherished illusion that he was of the white people, and must do as the white people did.
But Colonel Dewes pointed unwittingly the significance of that trivial matter on the same night.

He dined at the house of an old friend, and after the ladies had gone he moved up into the next chair, and so sat beside a weary-looking official from the Punjab named Ralston, who had come down to Calcutta on leave.

Colonel Dewes began to talk of his meeting with Shere Ali that afternoon.