"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.