Jimmy stared at this Miss Chandos, who looked and spoke like a well-bred English lady, and yet was Dominga's own sister. What did it mean? Dom, with all her charm, spoke with a quaint, half-foreign accent, and her manners decidedly lacked the repose which stamped the caste of Vere de Vere, whilst Verona--the other girl, "the slow one," as he already classed her, was Vere de Vere--and no mistake! As Dominga crossed the polo ground attended by her new slave, she tossed her head and flounced her skirts, and glared at spectators as much as to say, "Don't you wish you were in my shoes?" When she stepped into the victoria she leant forward, and smiled with cruel exultation at the Watkins and the Trotters--they could not fail to have seen "the Honourable" tucking the dust cover over her knees. They knew that _she_ had got into society at last! As Dominga was driven homewards her body was unquestionably in the shabby victoria, but her mind was in the seventh heaven! "He" had chosen her out from among all the women in the station. "He" had called her "Dom," and, at parting, had given her fingers a fierce, emphatic squeeze, from the effects of which they were still tingling! CHAPTER XXVII Mrs. Barwell, who had never previously had it in her power to patronise any one, now thoroughly enjoyed the novel experience. She issued continual "commands" to Verona and Dominga Chandos, and the latter waited on her constantly, and soon became an established favourite; her flatteries were so piquant and unfailing. But Verona disliked attending the "drawing rooms" of her former acquaintance and present patroness; she found ample occupation at home, reading with Pussy and Nicky, rowing with them on the river, bicycling about the district, teaching her grandmother to knit, and reviving her father's old attachment to games. Now and then she spent a long evening in his room, playing piquet, or discussing books and places and people. Paul Chandos was a well-read man, a cultivated and delightful companion; strange that this cultivated, clear-headed gentleman should start and shrivel into silence when he heard the sound of his wife's quick footfall and rasping tongue! Undoubtedly he enjoyed these evening hours with Verona, but she had an instinct that these _tête-à-têtes_ were not looked upon with favour by her mother; indeed, she had a secret, a dreadful conviction that her mother disliked her. In little indescribable ways, this fact was brought home to her a dozen times a day. When Verona had recovered from the paralysing shock of her first sensations, and after her illness had crept back to life and good resolutions, she made a bold effort to win her mother's affections.