"The police officer, a nephew of Mrs. Lepell's; he lives in cantonments. He is so strict and severe. Oh, mother does hate him--I believe she is afraid of him!" "How can he possibly affect mother?" inquired Verona, as she sorted out some gloves. "Of course, not at all, but he gives you the horrid notion that he can read your thoughts, and knows every single little thing about you. Whenever he looks at me, I can't help wriggling like an insect on a pin, and mother declares that he has the evil eye!" "The evil eye!" repeated Verona; "you don't really believe in such nonsense?" "Well, perhaps not. Salwey's eyes are bluey-grey, like steel. He is not bad looking, and once--now I'll tell you a secret----" "No, don't! Please!" protested Verona, throwing up her hands. "Oh, but I must; I do like talking secrets," pursued Pussy with breathless volubility, "I think Dominga used to be crazy about him, and sent him notes by Nicky." "What!" "Yes; but I don't believe he ever gave them. Salwey and Nicky are great friends. He lives near the river and has a boat, and comes up to the Lepells that way when he is in the station. He gave Nicky a pup, and books and advice, and taught him to row. We have a boat, too. Nicky's awfully fond of Salwey, he just worships him; but he can't bear Dominga, and I don't believe he ever gave the letters. You must know that in this house there are two factions: it is Dom and mother against Nick and me. Oh! oh! oh!" suddenly sitting erect, "you are getting out your dresses! how lovelee!" as Verona unfolded and displayed a white crêpe de chine, a green foulard and an exquisite white and silver ball dress. Pussy clapped her hands excitedly, and screaming, "Oh, I must call the others," leapt off the bed and ran shoeless out of the room. Verona was a girl who wore her clothes well in every respect; not only had she the knack of investing them with her own grace and individuality, but they still seemed dainty and fresh long after they had passed their first bloom. There were no tea or coffee stains on the front breadth (that every-day misfortune), frayed seams or ragged edges in the gowns she was taking from her boxes or ranging round the room for the promised exhibition. Here were tailor costumes, evening dresses, muslins, laces and many dainty frocks which had been worn at Homburg, Aix and Cannes, and some had cost what is figuratively termed "a small fortune."