"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."