"Girls, I have ordered the wagonette for this afternoon," announced
Mrs. Chandos, "so we will all go to the club. Verona, you have been
here two months, and never once been in to the station. Just fancy!"
Verona's attempted apologies and excuses were imperiously silenced.
In a quarter of an hour she found herself driving from the door, in
company with her mother, Dominga, Pussy and Blanche, who had been
spending the morning with her relations.
"Oh, Verona, how I wish you knew some of the officers' wives," bewailed
her mother; "it would be such a help to your poor sisters. You see,
although we are such a good family at home, and go back for hundreds of
years, yet we are looked down on in Rajahpore as just factory nobodies.
Your father will never leave a card on the mess, no, not even when his
old friends were here, though I went down on my knees and asked him to
do it. Yes, I did! No one calls on us except one or two young men who
are no good. No?"
"But don't you go to numbers of entertainments and tennis parties?"
enquired the newcomer.
"We go only to look on--to sports and cricket matches, but we know no
one, for we, of course, will not sit beside the Trotters and the wood
contract people. Then, when we go to the station club, people give us
the cold shoulder, and look as much as to say, 'Now, what are _you_
doing here?' If you only knew one or two officers' wives they would ask
us to balls and dinners, and what a thing it would be for us! There
must be hundreds and thousands of people in the world that you know,
Verona."
"Yes; but I do not think that I shall meet any of them at Rajahpore."
During this conversation the party had been driving towards the
cantonment, which at this period of the year resembled green, park-like
plains, diversified with barracks, bungalows, clumps of feathery
bamboos, and clumsy mango trees.
Outside the club waited many carriages, and round the tennis courts
a number of people were assembled, as Mrs. Chandos and her daughters
descended (unassisted) from the wagonette.
They chattered into the reading-room, _en masse_, and went over to the
big table where the picture papers were to be found. These they tossed
about recklessly, or turned over with contemptuous indifference. No
one took the smallest notice of them, although Blanche, Dominga and
Pussy had duly announced their arrival by loud remarks and laughter, as
ear-piercing as a peacock's scream.
Mrs. Chandos was apparently buried in the _Queen_, but her little
black eyes were all the time roving round the room; yet she did not
appear to observe the glances of annoyance that were cast at her three
merry daughters. Verona, more sensitive, got up and walked away into
the adjoining library, which was lined with books. Several people
were also examining the shelves. As she was turning over the pages
of an old friend, she was startled to hear a voice beside her say:
"Is it possible that I behold Miss Chandos?" She looked up quickly,
and beheld a little blonde lady, with a pert, piquant face, and in an
instant recognised Miss Snoad, a second-rate girl, who lived near the
Melvilles, and whom she suddenly remembered had, to the surprise and
delight of her family, married an officer and gone to India.
"Ah! I know you're going to say 'Miss Snoad,'" she continued, and her
little green eyes danced gleefully, "but I am Mrs. Barwell now; my
husband is a Major in the Muffineers. Who would have thought of seeing
_you_ out here? I suppose you are globe-trotting. How is Madame de
Godez?"
These questions were poured forth so rapidly that Verona had no time to
reply.
"Madame de Godez is dead; she died very suddenly last March."
"Oh!" ejaculated Mrs. Barwell. Undoubtedly Madame de Godez's heiress
stood before her, the happy owner of fifteen thousand a year! "And
only fancy your being at Rajahpore! I suppose you have a smart
chaperone--some lady of title. You must both come and stay with me--a
good long visit."
"Thank you very much, but I am with my own relations," replied Verona.
"Why--I never knew you had any relations in India."
"Nor did I, until within the last few months."
"Who are they?" asked the lady breathlessly. "What is their name?"
"Chandos; they live at Manora."
"What! _Those_ people?" and Mrs. Barwell's voice grew shrill, her face
became quite pink, as she collapsed on a chair and exclaimed:
"Well, I never!"
Verona remained standing, motionless, gazing at her in dead silence,
and there was a long, uncomfortable pause.
"And what has become of all the money?" gasped Mrs. Barwell at last.
"It went to Madame de Godez's next of kin."
"My gracious goodness! my stars! What a change for you; what an _awful_
come down!"
At this moment Mrs. Chandos bustled into the library, closely attended
by Pussy and Dominga.
"Whatt!" she exclaimed, triumphantly, "so you _have_ found a friend,
Verona!" and she looked from her daughter to the little, hard-faced
woman in the armchair. "You must introduce me, Verona. No?"
Verona, painfully embarrassed, remained silent. What was she to do? Of
course her mother wished to know Mrs. Barwell, but Mrs. Barwell did not
wish to know her mother.
To her profound relief the latter stood up, and said:
"Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Chandos? I believe I get my eggs and fowls
from you? Your daughter and I were acquainted in England."
"Yes, yes, yes; and this is my other daughter, Dominga. I daresay you
have met Dom at the tennis----"
Mrs. Barwell merely closed her eyes at Dominga, and turning abruptly to
Verona, said:
"Now, when will you come to see me?"
"I really cannot say."
"Oh, you can have the victoria any day," volunteered her mother with
gushing officiousness.
"Let me see," said Mrs. Barwell, "Wednesday is the polo; suppose you
come to tea and we go on there afterwards. There is to be a grand
match, and a number of people are coming over from Cheepore."
Mrs. Chandos once more put herself forward, and with eager volubility
promised her daughter's company without fail, and after a few little
speeches Mrs. Barwell left the library.
"Whatt luck!" cried Mrs. Chandos. "Dominga, you can _not_ play tennis;
you must come down with me to the bazaar and get a pair of shoes.
Whatt luck! Whatt luck!" she kept repeating. "Whatt luck!"
Verona failed to see any connection between the word "luck" and
Dominga's new kid shoes, but she understood this puzzle later.
When Wednesday came, Verona--who was exceedingly reluctant to fulfil
her engagement to Mrs. Barwell--was astonished to find that Dominga was
to bear her company! Dominga, arrayed in her own best green foulard and
one of "Suzanne's" celebrated hats, was dragging on a pair of new white
gloves as she entered the drawing-room.
"Where are you going, Dominga?" she asked.
"I am going with you--a pleasant surprise!"
"But, Dom, you cannot come; you know you were not invited."
"Oh, yes, I can. Tea is nothing--she will not mind."
"Then I shall not go at all," announced Verona, and as she spoke she
began to remove her hat. "I will write a note of excuse. Please tell
the man to take round the victoria."
Mrs. Chandos was barely in time to hear the fag end of this
conversation, and burst out in a fury of passion.
"Hi! hi! what do you mean giving those grand lady orders here? I only
give orders in this house. You learn thatt, Miss. I now order you, take
your sister to Mrs. Barwell's. If you were not a bad hearted, mean,
thankless wretch, you would feel glad and proud to introduce Dominga to
your friends. She shall go--and I say it!"
"Then she goes alone; and, indeed, I am not at all anxious to resume my
acquaintance with Mrs. Barwell."
"Oh, it is already three o'clock," screamed Mrs. Chandos; "you will be
late! What is the good of you--you idle, useless doll, but to help your
sisters into society?" Mrs. Chandos was perfectly livid with passion;
her tongue, now loosened, gave vent to a torrent of abuse.
At this particular moment Verona caught sight of her father timidly
opening the door of his den, and, turning her back on her storming
mother, she hurried to appeal to him.
"Father," she began, "I am invited to tea in Rajahpore with a lady I
once knew slightly; I have no desire to know her any better. My mother
accepted the invitation, and now insists on sending Dominga with me.
I'm sure Mrs. Barwell will think it a great intrusion. What am I to do?"
"Go, my dear," was his surprising reply; "go; you must submit to your
mother. There is no alternative."
"Go?" she repeated incredulously. "You are not in earnest!"
"Yes," and his voice faltered, poor, craven man. "Go for my sake,
Verona--and the sake of peace. These scenes"--and he nodded towards the
verandah--"are distracting. Oh, go, my dear, for God's sake--it will
only be a little hurt to your pride, and it will soon be over!" and
with this extremely faint consolation, Verona, holding her head very
high, went down the steps and took her place in the victoria beside her
exultant sister.