Pussy and Nicky were unaffectedly idle, but Mrs. Chandos, on the other hand, was feverishly busy, whisking in and out of the rooms, herding the servants here and there, scolding every one in her high, far-reaching falsetto. Twelve o'clock was the orthodox visiting hour, and three days after Verona's arrival it brought Mrs. Trotter, Miss Lizzie Trotter, Miss Georgina Louisa Trotter in all their best clothes, to make a formal call. Mrs. Trotter, a worthy, hard-working woman, who always declared that "she knew her place and kept to it," had a round, flat face, resembling a bread platter, the idea being well carried out by a toque in tussore silk.
She was obviously abashed on her first introduction to the new Miss Chandos, and stared at her with genuine surprise, but Susan Trotter very soon rallied and found her tongue, and taking a good grip of her self-possession, began:
"You and I, Verona——"
Verona started.
"——have more in common than all the other members of your family—as we have both been in England; I," she bridled, "of course was born there," and she looked round the room. "You," to Verona, "were born out here—whereabouts?"
Verona glanced at her mother interrogatively.
"Oh—in Murree," she answered sharply, then exclaimed:
"My! whatt a long time since Mrs. Trotter has been in England; she will not know it as you do, Verona. Twenty-five years, is it not?"
"Yes," assented Mrs. Trotter with obvious reluctance.
"So Lizzie was born at home? And that makes her at least twenty-seven," and Mrs. Chandos closed her eyes, as much as to say "I have scored."