Montagu was a lank, narrow-chested Eurasian, showily dressed in a blue and white striped suit; he wore a red satin tie, a gilt chain and several rings. He had well-cut features, a simple, amiable expression, and a pair of pale grey eyes, which seemed peculiarly out of place when contrasted with his dark face, and ink-black hair. "Come, you may kiss her; I give you leave," declared his sprightly wife, pushing him forward with both hands. But however willing he might have been to accept this permission, there was an expression on the face of the third Miss Chandos which constrained him, and he merely sniggered and offered a limp hand. "What! not kiss Monty, your own brother?" cried Blanche, in a tone of affronted amazement, "then all I can say is--I'm sorry for your _taste_!" Meanwhile Monty consoled himself by saluting his mother-in-law--with whom he appeared to be on terms of unnatural affection. "And here," resumed Blanche, now waving forward her offspring, "is your dear little nephew, Chandos Montagu Jones; he is ten weeks old to-day. Kiss your new auntie, sweetie king." From this embrace there was of course no escape; for the ayah promptly handed the child to Verona with an air of gratified relief. If Verona had been informed that it was the woman's own infant, she would have accepted the announcement without demur, the little thing was so dark; its olive face was bright and cheery, and she dandled it, kissed it, and carried it about with a secret presentiment that she would like it better than either of its parents! "Well, now there is so much I want to know," began Blanche, as she threw herself into a chair; "when did she come?" nodding at Verona, "for we all went to the train and could not see her anywhere. We took the De Castros, and the Jenkins, and Mr. Bott, and those two young fellows from the cantonment office. Oh, my! they were all dying to get the first sight of Verona, and she was not there. She must have come by the four o'clock, and we went to the half-past two." "Dios!" suddenly interrupting herself with a loud shriek, for here entered, with mincing and self-conscious gait, Dominga and Pussy, attired in two of Verona's most elegant casino costumes. The former in pale green (her particular colour), veiled with white lace, and garnished with black velvet; the latter, in a superb hand-painted muslin. They wore hats and ruffles to correspond, and an air of overwhelming complacency. "Why, why, what is this, what is this?" screamed Blanche, backing towards the verandah with uplifted hands and an expression of awe and bewilderment.