Without delay it was volubly explained to her by three voices, all gabbling together, that these were the garments of Verona, who had more smart clothes than the room could hold. Then Dominga and Pussy sat down, each on a separate sofa, spread out their skirts, fanned themselves languidly, and proceeded to imagine that they were fine ladies. Gradually Blanche's gaze of awed admiration faded into a scowl of envy. Montagu stared and sniggered, and twirled his moustache, whilst Verona stood in the background, holding the little dark child, who apparently liked her, and clung to her neck like a very crab. "Oh, but you shall have your share, too!" said Dominga, in a soothing tone, as she recognised the storm cone--for Blanche had inherited her mother's temper. "There is a lovely toque for you, and such a dress piece of white alpaca, and you shall have one of my parasols. There now!" "Parasol, cha--a--h" (native expression of scorn)--"you put me off like that! Why shouldn't I have a smart dress? How sly and greedy you all are, keeping the grand things to yourselves--just like pigs. One thing you forget," as she straightened herself and glared from Dominga to Pussy, then back from Pussy to Dominga, "I am the eldest!" "Oh, yes, but that does not count now," was the bold retort, "you are not one of us; you are married. Oh, my!" with a change of key. "Here is Mrs. Lepell, what shall we do?" During this interesting altercation a slim little lady, with a clever piquant face, had walked on to the verandah totally unnoticed. She wore a simple linen gown and a large garden hat, and her hair, which was turned off her delicate careworn face, was touched with grey. "How do you do, Mrs. Chandos?" she said, coming forward, then gave a perceptible start as her eye fell on the two Paris models. "I've just walked across to call on your daughter, the new arrival," and she nodded to the rest of the company. "Oh, thank you," stammered Mrs. Chandos, "you are so kind, there she is," and she beckoned to Verona, who stood in the background, still holding the child; this its grandmother snatched from her with irritable haste, and said as she thrust it into the ayah's arms: "Verona, here is Mrs. Lepell, she has been so kind as to ask for you." If Mrs. Lepell had been amazed by the brilliant toilettes of the Misses Chandos, she was more astonished now, when a girl of her own class came slowly forward: a beautiful dark-eyed creature, with an air of unaffected distinction. At first she could scarcely believe the evidence of her senses. Here, indeed, was a dove in the crow's nest. "So you only arrived yesterday?" she managed to articulate at last. "Yes, last evening."