"Well, you would never suppose, that that thin, worn man, with a melancholy face and downcast air, was one of the cheeriest and best-looking fellows in the Service, and mad about balls, and racing, and sport. When I saw him win the Cup at Lucknow, what an ovation he got! I little anticipated the hero of that day would become my sub-manager, and that the irresistible Adonis, in a blue satin jacket, would develop into a haggard, gaunt automaton, in patched khaki, whose horizon is limited to cane fields, his topics to sacks and sugar mills, goor and fuel. A man who calls me 'sir,' and touches his hat to me daily." "Now I understand, Tom--why you overlook his irregularity, and----" Her husband interposed with a gesture of his hand. "This Manora has proved his harbour of refuge; here he has been anchored for eighteen years, here he will remain, till the end of the chapter. I mean _his_ chapter." "Unless the new daughter creates a revolution in the family," suggested Salwey. "On the contrary, the family will alter her. You say," looking at his wife, "that she is fair." "Yes, entirely a Chandos, and an aristocrat--a pure English girl." "No--no--nature takes care of that! She has her mother's blood in her veins, her mother's example to drag her under; it will be a mere question of--weeks." "No, not in this case, Tom," rejoined his wife with brisk decision. "Why not? My impression, after many years of life in India, is, the fairer a Eurasian the darker their disposition. The duskier their complexion, the whiter their hearts. For instance, compare Dominga to Mrs. Cavalho; now _she_ is a good woman, and a true lady." "Pray, why should you be so prejudiced against this new Miss Chandos, Tom? You have not even seen her; she will be a success--of that I am convinced." "Nothing bearing that name has ever come in the way of poor Chandos, nothing but bad luck; he seems to be under the influence of an evil star." "Scorpio!" suggested his nephew, "in other words, his wife." "He is a capital sub-manager," resumed Mr. Lepell, "punctual and orderly; has wonderful command over the employees; is a fine disciplinarian, and speaks the language like a native. Latterly, his health is bad." "And the reason of that, is easily understood," said Brian, looking at his uncle with significance. "Yes, God help him! he takes opium; and I'm afraid the habit is gaining on him; he flies to it, to kill the past--aye, and the present." "Well, you may think me a brute, but I must say, I don't pity Chandos in the least; he brought all his woes on himself by marrying a half-caste, a low-bred Eurasian, a money-lender's daughter." "He has to thank another for his misfortunes." "Has he?" echoed his wife, in a tone of incredulity. "Well, Tom, we are both dying to hear the history of Mr. Chandos."