The apartment into which Verona was formally conducted proved large and
airy--somewhat of the barn-like type.
"And you're to have it to yourself!" announced Dominga, with an
impressive gesture. "Father made an awful fuss, and had it newly
matted, and white-washed, and see! it opens on the back verandah." As
she spoke she unfastened a glass door and admitted a splendid Eastern
moon, which illuminated the whole country and displayed a wide river
within a few yards of the bungalow. The room was furnished in simple
Indian style; a small cot, large wardrobe and bare dressing-table,
on which stood a bowl of exquisite roses. Dominga indicated with
increased complacency a rickety little Davenport. "Father had it put
in; he said English ladies write letters in their bedrooms."
"It was very thoughtful of him," murmured Verona, and oh, how devoutly
she wished that these two girls would go away and leave her to herself.
But no! having been cut off from her society for so many years, her
sisters were anxious--not to say determined--to enjoy it now. They
fidgetted round the dressing-table, talking incessantly and together,
devouring her all the time with their eyes. "My! what wonderful hair
you have!" cried Pussy, when Verona removed her hat, "and every bit as
much as Dominga. Just look, Dom."
Dominga nodded acquiescence as she stroked it with a patronising touch,
and declared:
"Oh, yes--it _is_ theek." Then she glanced into the mirror, which
was large, and portrayed two faces--nay, three--for Pussy now leant
forward, and added herself to the group.
Verona, in the middle, was the tallest of the trio; her two Eurasian
sisters beamed triumphantly on her reflection and their own.
"Oh no, no, no; we are not one bit a--like!" announced Pussy with a
giggle, "who would suppose we were relations?"
"But she has a great look of _me_," proclaimed Dominga; "her hair grows
in the same way, her nose is the same shape. We must certainly dress
alike! although I am so fair and you," glancing at Verona, "are so very
dark. What do you say?"
Verona nodded assent; she could not have uttered a word were it to save
her life.
Her sister's remark enforced a terrible and tragic truth--she _was_
very dark. On the other hand, Dominga was more of a Chandos than a
Lopez, and her appearance was not altogether out of keeping with a
long line of patrician ancestors. Her head was small and well set on,
and her air was distinctly imperious. Besides these advantages she
had magnificent hair, and a thin delicate profile. A tinge of colour
in her cheeks and lips would have transformed Dominga into a beauty;
unfortunately her skin was as white and dead as any sunbleached bone.
As she stood gazing into the glass the mirror reflected three faces,
and of the trio, her own, in Dominga's opinion, was infinitely the
fairest. It was possibly the most uncommon: being instinct with a
peculiar fiery vitality. A striking--but scarcely what is called "a
good face"--the jaw was a little square, the lips were a little cruel,
the brilliant grey-green eyes were a little hard, a countenance that
could look animated, alluring, impassioned, or implacable, reckless
and grim. Like many red-haired women Dominga generally wore green--it
was her favourite, and she believed, most flattering colour. On the
present occasion her white cambric gown was enlivened by a vivid shade
of emerald in belt and tie, and she surveyed her reflection with
affectionate complacency as she remarked:
"Still, I daresay the same colours will suit us--we are both so pale! I
am longing to see your dresses. Now I wonder if your boxes have come?
I'll just go and ask if there's any sign of that bandy?" and with
obliging alacrity the fair Miss Chandos quitted the room.
"Dominga is mother's favourite," announced Pussy. "Mother is awfullee
proud of her hair and her dead-white skin and her figure. She is sure
to be fond of you too; you are _so_ pretty. But when she first heard
you were coming--my! but she was mad! She said she would not have you,
and she would not write. You see," and Pussy's soft dark eyes became
apologetic, "we are so many girls, and Blanche was, oh, such a trouble!
I'm afraid"--stopping short--"you have a headache. You look so seedy."
"Yes," assented Verona, "I have a dreadful headache."
"It is the horrid train; you will be better after dinner, I know. I
will go and hurry it."
What a relief, if only for a moment, to get that ceaseless chatter
out of her ears! To have a little breathing space in which to realize
her position! Verona was conscious of a sick buzzing in her brain as
she sat down, closed her eyes tightly, and endeavoured to collect her
thoughts, and lay hold of her self-possession. Truly, she had found her
own people; she was one of them now--always and for ever! No wonder
she had felt drawn to the East, since its blood ran in her veins! Her
outlook on life must be entirely re-focussed; her former aims and
illusions lay shattered around her. The unhappy girl sat there, as it
were, among the very ruins of her hopes. But solitude and meditation
were luxuries far too valuable to be enjoyed for any length of time.
A loud thumping on the door aroused Verona from a sort of stupor, and
a voice called: "Rona, Rona, dinner! Come a--long!" Outside in the
passage Pussy was waiting in ambush, and when her sister appeared,
literally fell upon her, and led her triumphantly into the dining-room.
Mrs. Chandos was already seated at table, soup ladle in hand. She
had made no change in her dress, but her husband--who hurried in
with a muttered apology--wore a white open coat, white shirt and
red silk cummerbund, the lingering instinct of the English officer
and gentleman. A yellow shaded lamp in the middle of the table was
supported by two dishes, one of custard apples and the other of butter
cakes. The meal itself was solid and plentiful, and consisted of river
fish, baked kid, curry, and cocoanut pudding. Most of the menu was
absolutely new to Verona, but although she had not tasted food for
hours she was unable to eat; her throat felt constricted and her head
burned. Mrs. Chandos viewed such a poor appetite as a direct personal
grievance, and--despite her daughter's almost tearful protestations,
hinted at "airs" and "pride." The other young people ate heartily, not
to say gluttonously, and devoured the hot curry and butter cakes with
a relish that was amazing. Beyond a little wrangling among themselves
(Verona caught such expressions as "You get out!" "You don't talk to
me like thatt!"), they contributed nothing to the general conversation.
The head of the house wore the rigid look of a mask and scarcely
opened his lips; he was far more taciturn than during the drive from
the station, but his wife made ample compensation for all deficiencies
by continually scolding the servants and plying Verona with sharp
questions--questions respecting money, accomplishments, acquaintances!
questions resembling a series of darts shot by a sure hand. She could
scarcely trust herself to speak of the Gowdys; when she touched on the
subject her voice became shrill and hysterical. Mrs. Chandos appeared
to be bitterly disappointed that her daughter had no acquaintances in
the regiment at Rajahpore--or, indeed, as far as she knew--in India,
and she had made no "nice friends" on board ship.
"But whatt is the use of the P. & O., but for making useful friends?"
argued Mrs. Chandos; "you might as well have come out in a cheap line.
The Finlays, of the railway, came out in the _Peninsula_ with people
who asked Tilly up to Simla. Of course, they did not hear that old
Finlay was once a platelayer, but Lizzie Finlay is a clever girl;
oh, she is a sharp one! No? Now, boy, whatt are you about?"--turning
fiercely on a servant who had upset some gravy--"whatt a stupid pig you
are! Yes! you did see! Whatt do you go telling lies for? Look at the
cloth! When first we were married"--addressing Verona--"Mr. Chandos was
so particular he would always have two clean tablecloths a day, and now
we have two a week; it is all habit! He has got used to things, and to
being poor and a nobody."
"But father may have a great fortune some day," proclaimed Dominga, in
a loud, exultant key, and as she spoke she planted both elbows firmly
on the table.
"You don't know what you are talking about!" muttered Mr. Chandos into
his moustache; "I have never said so."
"Oh, but he may! A beautiful place in England; Mr. Chandos always goes
on like that; we don't mind him," declared his wife with a toss of her
head.
"And then you will see where _we_ come in!" resumed Dominga; "you will
see what carriages and clothes we will have. Oh, there will be no more
of this dirty sugar work then!"
"Ah, but 'Delhi is still a long way off,'" quoted Pussy, with a sly
laugh.
"Oh, you choop! do," cried her sister; "you shut up; you are as bad as
Nani with your native proverbs. We must take Rona into Rajahpore. Goody
me, how the people will stare! They don't know of our new sister."
"I say, I wonder what they will call _her_?" growled Nicky, speaking
with his mouth full of custard apple, and staring reflectively at the
recent arrival. "Dom," indicating his sister with a spoon, "is called
'Red Chandos'; Pussy is 'Black Chandos,' father is 'Old Chandos,' I am
'Inky Chandos,' and mother----"
"Now you be quiett!" shrieked his mother, "telling such stories! For
shame of you!"
"Well, I'd like to know what they call mother?" demanded Dominga, with
the face of a fury.
"I'll tell you thatt when we're by ourselves," he answered with a
wink. Nicky had a way of investing his insolence with a surprisingly
matter-of-fact air.
"Verona, you will make quite a stir, I think," interposed Pussy;
"you look so ladylike, and hold your head so high; you are far more
genteel than Mrs. Captain Tully or Mrs. Major Barrwell, who won't know
_us_: none of the officers' wives ever call here, although they go to
Lepell's, and yet father was an army man, and in the cavalry, too."
"See, now I have an idea," announced Mrs. Chandos suddenly, as if
struck with an inspiration; "since last comers call first, why should
not Verona make a round of the cantonment? It is quite etiquette, and I
can wait outside in the victoria, and then we shall have all the nice
people coming out here instead of railway and contractors, and such
like trash."
"The army people will never come out here," declared Dominga, "no, not
even for Rona; they are a nasty, sneering, low, stuck-up lot, and I
hate them."
"Only the women," corrected Nicky, who had finished his meal, and now
felt at leisure to converse. "You don't hate the officers. Oh, ho! Dom,
you like them! You are awfully keen to go into tennis and badminton and
bands and church. Dom,"--addressing himself especially to Verona--"has
had no end of cases! She is a tremendous flirt; she even tried her hand
on Salwey, but he didn't seem to see it--did he, Dom?"
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." There must have been some
tiny grain of truth in Nicky's rude chaff, for the face Dominga turned
on him was fiendish in its expression.
"Will you choop? Will you be quiett?" she screamed, half-rising from
her chair, her voice choked with rage.
"Now, do not tease your sister, for I will not have it," remonstrated
Mrs. Chandos. "Verona does not know that no one minds one single word
of what Nicky says. Oh, he is a shocking liar!"
During the above altercation Mrs. Chandos had been studying her pale
English-bred daughter, and had arrived at the conclusion that she was
either, like the officers' wives, "stuck-up," or else a dumb, inanimate
fool.
"I see you have no tongue," she remarked, "and so"--with a withering
glance at her husband--"you are like him. Oh, you will be just to his
taste--a _real_ Chandos!"
"I am a little tired to-night," replied the unhappy girl, in a faint,
apologetic key, and tears were very near her eyes.
"Oh, it is not so very tiring, sitting in the train," retorted Mrs.
Chandos, and her expression was not agreeable as she pushed back her
chair with a jerk, and rose from the table.
Dinner had now concluded; of the butter cakes or custard apples not a
vestige remained. Her father had retired to smoke on the verandah; her
sisters were just about to seize upon Verona, and drag her away, when
her mother interposed, saying:
"No! no! no! do let a--lone! Verona is coming with me. She has yet to
see her grandmother."