"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:
"Oh, my dear friend, whatt a lucky woman you are with your five children around you—and we, that have not one—and this new da-ter, like a queen, the most beautiful of all!"
But Mrs. Chandos gave her chin a contemptuous tilt, shook off the kind, little hand, and remarked in a querulous tone:
"Oh, yes, she is all very well now; but when she has had a couple of hot weathers, she will not be so wonderful, you will see."
But to this melancholy prophecy good Mrs. Cavalho absolutely refused to assent. Dominga, who had succeeded to the piano stool, now favoured the company with two penetrating songs; then a servant appeared with a tray on which was rum (factory rum), water, sweet syrup (home-made) and biscuits—a signal that the entertainment was waning.
The community at Manora were early risers, and the guests now began to disperse.
"Do look at grandmamma!" said Blanche as she rose, "she is sound asleep; she does not care for music, only snake-charmers, and tom-toms, and those whining bazaar tunes. Ayah and baby are already in the gharry, and we must be going. Remember I expect you all to tea to-morrow, especially Verona," and after a series of shrill good-byes, parting injunctions, and smacking kisses, the Jones family were once more packed into their hired conveyance, and rattled back to Rajahpore.
"Aré, so they are gone," said Mrs. Lopez, sitting erect, and indulging herself with a prodigious yawn; "that Monty is a stupid owl, and Blanche is still so gay and grand. Well! Well! Well! You know the saying, 'The cow does not find her own horns heavy.' Now I'm going away to my bed."