Mrs. Chandos was already seated at table, soup ladle in hand. She had made no change in her dress, but her husband--who hurried in with a muttered apology--wore a white open coat, white shirt and red silk cummerbund, the lingering instinct of the English officer and gentleman. A yellow shaded lamp in the middle of the table was supported by two dishes, one of custard apples and the other of butter cakes. The meal itself was solid and plentiful, and consisted of river fish, baked kid, curry, and cocoanut pudding. Most of the menu was absolutely new to Verona, but although she had not tasted food for hours she was unable to eat; her throat felt constricted and her head burned. Mrs. Chandos viewed such a poor appetite as a direct personal grievance, and--despite her daughter's almost tearful protestations, hinted at "airs" and "pride." The other young people ate heartily, not to say gluttonously, and devoured the hot curry and butter cakes with a relish that was amazing. Beyond a little wrangling among themselves (Verona caught such expressions as "You get out!" "You don't talk to me like thatt!"), they contributed nothing to the general conversation. The head of the house wore the rigid look of a mask and scarcely opened his lips; he was far more taciturn than during the drive from the station, but his wife made ample compensation for all deficiencies by continually scolding the servants and plying Verona with sharp questions--questions respecting money, accomplishments, acquaintances! questions resembling a series of darts shot by a sure hand. She could scarcely trust herself to speak of the Gowdys; when she touched on the subject her voice became shrill and hysterical. Mrs. Chandos appeared to be bitterly disappointed that her daughter had no acquaintances in the regiment at Rajahpore--or, indeed, as far as she knew--in India, and she had made no "nice friends" on board ship. "But whatt is the use of the P. & O., but for making useful friends?" argued Mrs. Chandos; "you might as well have come out in a cheap line. The Finlays, of the railway, came out in the _Peninsula_ with people who asked Tilly up to Simla. Of course, they did not hear that old Finlay was once a platelayer, but Lizzie Finlay is a clever girl; oh, she is a sharp one! No? Now, boy, whatt are you about?"--turning fiercely on a servant who had upset some gravy--"whatt a stupid pig you are! Yes! you did see! Whatt do you go telling lies for? Look at the cloth! When first we were married"--addressing Verona--"Mr. Chandos was so particular he would always have two clean tablecloths a day, and now we have two a week; it is all habit! He has got used to things, and to being poor and a nobody." "But father may have a great fortune some day," proclaimed Dominga, in a loud, exultant key, and as she spoke she planted both elbows firmly on the table. "You don't know what you are talking about!" muttered Mr. Chandos into his moustache; "I have never said so."