"And you're to have it to yourself!" announced Dominga, with an impressive gesture. "Father made an awful fuss, and had it newly matted, and white-washed, and see! it opens on the back verandah." As she spoke she unfastened a glass door and admitted a splendid Eastern moon, which illuminated the whole country and displayed a wide river within a few yards of the bungalow. The room was furnished in simple Indian style; a small cot, large wardrobe and bare dressing-table, on which stood a bowl of exquisite roses. Dominga indicated with increased complacency a rickety little Davenport. "Father had it put in; he said English ladies write letters in their bedrooms." "It was very thoughtful of him," murmured Verona, and oh, how devoutly she wished that these two girls would go away and leave her to herself. But no! having been cut off from her society for so many years, her sisters were anxious--not to say determined--to enjoy it now. They fidgetted round the dressing-table, talking incessantly and together, devouring her all the time with their eyes. "My! what wonderful hair you have!" cried Pussy, when Verona removed her hat, "and every bit as much as Dominga. Just look, Dom." Dominga nodded acquiescence as she stroked it with a patronising touch, and declared: "Oh, yes--it _is_ theek." Then she glanced into the mirror, which was large, and portrayed two faces--nay, three--for Pussy now leant forward, and added herself to the group. Verona, in the middle, was the tallest of the trio; her two Eurasian sisters beamed triumphantly on her reflection and their own. "Oh no, no, no; we are not one bit a--like!" announced Pussy with a giggle, "who would suppose we were relations?" "But she has a great look of _me_," proclaimed Dominga; "her hair grows in the same way, her nose is the same shape. We must certainly dress alike! although I am so fair and you," glancing at Verona, "are so very dark. What do you say?" Verona nodded assent; she could not have uttered a word were it to save her life. Her sister's remark enforced a terrible and tragic truth--she _was_ very dark. On the other hand, Dominga was more of a Chandos than a Lopez, and her appearance was not altogether out of keeping with a long line of patrician ancestors. Her head was small and well set on, and her air was distinctly imperious. Besides these advantages she had magnificent hair, and a thin delicate profile. A tinge of colour in her cheeks and lips would have transformed Dominga into a beauty; unfortunately her skin was as white and dead as any sunbleached bone.