Verona had an exquisitely sweet, haunting voice; every note was clear and full, and told. When she had removed her hands from the piano, instead of applause, there ensued strange silence. Monty and his father-in-law were standing inside the door and the face of the latter was working with some irrepressible emotion. "Whatt a nice little song," exclaimed Mrs. Chandos. "Why," with a sudden start, "here are the Cavalhos," as she descried two figures mounting the steps. "Oh, my goodness, whatt a bother." "May we come in?" inquired a high, chirrupy treble, and without waiting for a reply, an elderly woman, wearing a white dress and a black apron, walked forward, followed by her husband, a very stout, clean-shaven man with a round bullet head. They were both decidedly dark, but had kind, good-tempered faces, and indeed, in Mistress Cavalho's sweet dark eyes there lingered traces of a once renowned beauty. "We heard Dominga singing," she announced, "so we knew you must have the lamp lit in the drawing-room, and we came over in a friendly way to see"--here she glanced incredulously at Verona--"is this your daughter?" She pronounced it "da-ter." "Yes." "Oh, how do you do, Miss. I hope you will like Manora." "Thank you." "And here is Pedro, my husband, come to pay his respects." Pedro gave his stout body a little jerk--doubtless intended for a bow. "Now, pray do not let us stop the music," accepting a seat on the sofa beside Mrs. Chandos. "Oh, my! Dominga, you do sing better and better; that last song, it nearly killed me. We waited outside to listen; it sounded like an angel who was shut up in some prison house and breaking her heart; I tell you it squeezed my throat, and Pedro--oh, he gave one great sob." Here Pedro, with a deprecatory grin, suddenly backed into the verandah and the company of his host. "Oh, I never heard such singing," resumed his wife, with her eyes fixed on Dominga, "my, my, whatt a gift! What pleasure to others." A moment's pause, then, with a sudden laugh, Nicky burst out: "It was Verona," pointing with a rude forefinger, "Verona, who gave your throat a squeeze, and made old Daddy sob." Once more there was a silence, this time of a truly painful description. Dominga's face was livid; her mother's mouth was set, and there was an angry sparkle in her eye. Then Verona, with extraordinary courage and presence of mind, threw herself into the gulf and said: "It was the pretty air which affected you, Mrs. Cavalho; my voice is very poor in comparison to my sister's." "Oh, thatt is true," assented her mother with feverish energy, "thatt is quite true. It is no voice at all--and Dominga you can hear for a mile." Poor Mrs. Cavalho was sincerely grateful for the explanation, being secretly afraid of Dominga, whose expression had fully justified her alarm; and as a proof of her gratitude to Verona, moved a little closer to her mother, and laying a hand on hers, softly whispered: