"Here," he continued as he unlocked a drawer, and produced a large photograph, which showed the place on a much finer scale. "And here," he added, placing another picture in her hand. It was a photograph of a pretty girl in her teens, the face was sweet, the dress old-fashioned, "Oh, no, not that," hastily seizing it. "But this--it is your grandfather." It was a photograph, from a portrait, of a handsome, haughty, elderly man. And across one corner of the picture was inscribed in a bold hand: "Chandos, of Charne." Verona took the picture in her hand and considered it attentively. Her grandfather! What a contrast was presented by this aristocratic English magnate to her grandmother in the Dufta! "I have never shown it before," resumed her father in a tremulous tone, "so do not say anything about it. But you have been at home--you are a Chandos--_you_ understand. I think, my dear," and his voice broke a little, "we shall have many things in common. I am thankful that you came; already you have done good to Nicky and Pussy and me." He paused abruptly and stood in a listening attitude. Yes, there was a sound of wheels! The victoria had returned from its daily round and common task. Presently a shrill voice came pealing down the verandah. "Verona, Verona! Now where _is_ that girl?" "There, there, my dear, you had better go," urged her father nervously; "you will come again soon." As she turned to leave the room she met her mother face to face in the doorway. "Oh, ho!" she cried, "so _you_ have found your way here? I have seen Mrs. Lepell; she says she wants you and Pussy to go to tea to-morrow. I can't think what she is up to!" CHAPTER XXIII