"Quite decently. You'll have no difficulty in understanding her. I shall just introduce you."
"And what then?"
"Why, you must shake hands. She'll expect it. She's given up rubbing noses since she came to England."
"Oh, I say!" murmured Diccon faintly. "I don't think I feel quite well. My head aches."
But Violet ignored his plaintive excuse, and firmly led the way to the gun-room. Squatting on a low stool near the window, reading a New Zealand paper, was a decidedly queer-looking figure—odd, at any rate, to English eyes. The face and hands were very dark, and both cheeks and forehead were tattooed all over with an intricate pattern in red and blue. A magenta silk scarf was tied over the head, completely hiding the hair, and a huge pair of ear-rings drooped over the dusky neck. The girl was dressed in a bright petticoat, with a striped rug flung round her shoulders; her wrists were loaded with native-looking bangles, and she wore slippers of plaited grass. She took no notice at all when the door opened, but simply went on reading.
"I'm glad you warned me beforehand," whispered Diccon. "Isn't she pleased to see us?"
"Oh, yes! But she's not used yet to our customs. Remember, she has been brought up in New Zealand ways. Rata, here's a visitor to see you," continued Violet aloud. "Won't you speak to him?"
At this direct appeal, the colonial cousin rose from her stool, and bowed with a certain stately dignity. She did not offer to shake hands, and Diccon, fearful that she might relapse into her old habit of rubbing noses, kept cautiously in the background.
"You must be awfully glad to come to England," he stammered, for want of anything else to say.
"It is a great pleasure for me to see my father's country," she replied in a decidedly foreign accent, "and to meet the relations who are so kind to me. Lady Lorraine promises to take me everywhere. To-day I go to tennis and to a dance."