Anglo-Indians -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
The preparation for the tiffin party was on a sumptuous scale; there
was a brand new white cloth--flowers--and dessert. The family wore
their very best garments; even Mr. Chandos had put on a suit of old
blue serge, in order to do honour to Verona's friend. Verona herself,
with two great red spots on her cheeks, inwardly prayed that her
expected guest would not come--and her prayer was answered.
Half-past one--no Captain Haig--a quarter to two--Nicky ran to the
corner of the tennis ground; the Trotter family were all in their
verandah--for it had not been concealed from them that Mrs. Chandos
expected two officers to tiffin.
Two o'clock, yet still tarried the wheels of Captain Haig's chariot. A
gloomy silence now descended and settled upon the Chandos family like a
pall.
Half-past two! a gurrah at the factory struck "three."
"No-ah, he is not coming," announced Dominga, with a conviction
that tolled the knell of her mother's hopes. Nicky and Dominga were
clamouring for food, and a certain portion of the long-delayed meal
was hastily served. But Mrs. Chandos was too excited to eat; her mind
was dwelling on the triumph of the Trotters, and her costly useless
outlay--unfortunately, she could not return the ham, for it had been
boiled. Her temper, which had been gradually rising like a storm at
sea, now burst, and dashed itself like a tornado upon Verona. It was
not the recreant Captain Haig with whom Mrs. Chandos was furious; his
unlucky friend represented the scapegoat.
Verona sat white and speechless, whilst her mother overwhelmed her
with a torrent of reproaches for her airs, her uselessness, the heavy
cost of her maintenance, and her most devilish pride. But when once a
Eurasian loses her temper and her self-control, she hardly knows what
she says. The tempest like a typhoon is soon over,--but while it lasts,
it is bad, very bad.
Mrs. Chandos finally concluded with one of her celebrated screaming
fits, and Mrs. Lopez--well accustomed to these hysterical
outbursts--led her away sobbing and exhausted, in order to console and
soothe her in her own apartment.
CHAPTER XXIX
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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