As she stood gazing into the glass the mirror reflected three faces, and of the trio, her own, in Dominga's opinion, was infinitely the fairest. It was possibly the most uncommon: being instinct with a peculiar fiery vitality. A striking--but scarcely what is called "a good face"--the jaw was a little square, the lips were a little cruel, the brilliant grey-green eyes were a little hard, a countenance that could look animated, alluring, impassioned, or implacable, reckless and grim. Like many red-haired women Dominga generally wore green--it was her favourite, and she believed, most flattering colour. On the present occasion her white cambric gown was enlivened by a vivid shade of emerald in belt and tie, and she surveyed her reflection with affectionate complacency as she remarked: "Still, I daresay the same colours will suit us--we are both so pale! I am longing to see your dresses. Now I wonder if your boxes have come? I'll just go and ask if there's any sign of that bandy?" and with obliging alacrity the fair Miss Chandos quitted the room. "Dominga is mother's favourite," announced Pussy. "Mother is awfullee proud of her hair and her dead-white skin and her figure. She is sure to be fond of you too; you are _so_ pretty. But when she first heard you were coming--my! but she was mad! She said she would not have you, and she would not write. You see," and Pussy's soft dark eyes became apologetic, "we are so many girls, and Blanche was, oh, such a trouble! I'm afraid"--stopping short--"you have a headache. You look so seedy." "Yes," assented Verona, "I have a dreadful headache." "It is the horrid train; you will be better after dinner, I know. I will go and hurry it." What a relief, if only for a moment, to get that ceaseless chatter out of her ears! To have a little breathing space in which to realize her position! Verona was conscious of a sick buzzing in her brain as she sat down, closed her eyes tightly, and endeavoured to collect her thoughts, and lay hold of her self-possession. Truly, she had found her own people; she was one of them now--always and for ever! No wonder she had felt drawn to the East, since its blood ran in her veins! Her outlook on life must be entirely re-focussed; her former aims and illusions lay shattered around her. The unhappy girl sat there, as it were, among the very ruins of her hopes. But solitude and meditation were luxuries far too valuable to be enjoyed for any length of time. A loud thumping on the door aroused Verona from a sort of stupor, and a voice called: "Rona, Rona, dinner! Come a--long!" Outside in the passage Pussy was waiting in ambush, and when her sister appeared, literally fell upon her, and led her triumphantly into the dining-room.