He glanced at this refined English girl, with her reposeful manners and air of culture and elegance. It was like gazing through an open window on some former state of existence, when all the world seemed young and gay and he had life before him. Well, he was now a grey derelict, expiating his follies in exile. He found it impossible to realize that the lovely eager girl at his side was his very own daughter; the little Verona that twenty years ago they had, much against his will, consigned to Fernanda Gowdy. She had come back again--as what? To curse him--or to bless? "Your sisters are not the least like you," he remarked in a harsh, abrupt voice; "they are uneducated girls--simple and emotional. They have only seen life from a sugar factory, and their ideas are cramped and circumscribed; you must make allowances for them. Whatever they are--I believe they mean well." "Of course they do, and you need not ask me to make allowances for my own sisters. I am only too happy and thankful to think that I shall be with them always--and my mother." As this conversation took place, the carriage was passing along a winding road, fenced with dusty cactus and an occasional row of acacia trees, but generally running between high standing crops of dense sugar cane. The old bay Arab stepped out well, and before long a square, high tower came into view; then gradually the outline of factory and bungalows, all thrown into sharp relief by a deep crimson sky. Suddenly the victoria rolled into a wide shady avenue, lined with thick trees and bushes, which ultimately widened into a little park, bordered with a number of picturesque bungalows, each standing apart. At the far end was a fine imposing abode, with a great verandah and sloping lawns. "That is Mr. Lepell's house," explained Mr. Chandos. "He is manager of the factory." "Why, father, I thought you were manager?" "I!"--in a tone of ironical scorn. "No; I'm a mere bottle-washer, a subordinate, and will never be anything else." They now dashed by a group of people who were playing tennis with screams and shoutings; and paused abruptly in their game to stare; and drove on to a bungalow half-concealed from the road by thick bushes; the porch and verandah were entirely screened with lattice work. As they approached Verona's heart beat fast, and she was aware of several white figures--which had hitherto been stationed like outposts--flying within to give notice of her arrival. But when the victoria came to a standstill under the porch there was no one to be seen, and the girl was conscious of her father's long indrawn breath, as he handed her out and said: "I think they are all a little afraid--a little shy, of their English sister. Come into the house and I will fetch them." The drawing-room opened directly into the verandah, and on first entering it seemed dark; but Verona soon groped her way to a sofa and sat down to wait, whilst her father departed in order to summon the family.