"Hullo! Miss Dominga, are you not afraid of the malaria at this time of night?" As Verona made no reply he rowed a stroke nearer, stared hard at her, and then exclaimed with apologetic haste: "Oh, I beg your pardon; I mistook you for Miss Chandos!" and without another word rowed swiftly away. Verona watched his long, sweeping strokes till he turned a bend in the river, and so was lost to sight. No doubt this was Dominga's lover; he had a pleasant voice, a fine face, and a stalwart pair of arms. Dominga was unaccountably fortunate. CHAPTER XVII Whilst this genial family party was proceeding in Mr. Chandos' house, a gathering of another description took place in the vicinity. "The big bungalow," as it was called, was large and luxurious; the furniture modern and tasteful. Mrs. Lepell's frequent journeys to England resulted in many pretty things, such as choice water-colours, bits of quaint silver, fresh chintz covers; then there were soft draperies and screens, books and flowers in profusion. After dinner three men sat smoking, sipping coffee in the verandah; Mrs. Lepell, in a comfortable chair, and graceful tea-gown, was the only woman present. Her husband, Tom Lepell, a hale man of sixty, had been respected in India for five-and-thirty years; he was reputed to be hard, but just; a stern master and a staunch friend, whose energies were solely devoted to sugar and crops, to goor and rab. Then there was his charming wife, bright and popular; his wife's nephew, Brian Salwey, superintendent of police in the Rajahpore district. When at headquarters, he frequently rowed up the river, and spent an evening with his Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Tom. He had his own room, his own chair, and kept a suit of evening dress-clothes at Manora, for he found favour in the eyes of his well-to-do relations. Brian Salwey had a pair of steady grey eyes, his features were finely cut, and their expression intelligent; his face was tanned to almost the same shade as his curly locks, his mouth was firm, and his age was thirty. Originally he was intended for the Army, but the idea had been relinquished, and he thought himself exceedingly fortunate to procure a nomination in the Indian police. The billet fitted him like a glove, his profession interested him profoundly; like some young police officers he was an enthusiast, and was one of those men who, putting his hand to the plough, never looks back. Salwey was poor, but well-educated, well born, but without social influence. Being considered a most able officer by the heads of his department, he was naturally dispatched to quite the worst circle in the district. Here he was extravagant in horseflesh and books; and Bazaar report declared him to be in love with the Lal Billi (Red Cat); in other words, Dominga Chandos. The fourth individual in the verandah was the little officer to whom Verona had been introduced in Rajahpore station refreshment room.