Quite a number of guests had been specially invited to meet Miss Verona Chandos at tea, and ladies connected with the railway, commissariat and telegraph departments were well to the fore; smart, dark young men, slender and effusive; gaily dressed women, their faces covered with powder and reeking of sickly scents.
As Verona looked round the company she asked herself what she would have thought of this society a year ago? Of Mrs. De Castros, in a black crêpe hat trimmed with poppies, who drank loudly from her saucer, and put her tongue out at a friend; of Mistress Thomas, elaborately painted, wearing a very low white gown and a transparent blouse; of young Braganza Brown, the beau of the party, in a florid waistcoat with silver buttons, and a pink satin tie, scented and oiled like some ancient Roman dandy. Pussy was undoubtedly in her element, and giggled and talked incessantly, for she was a social favourite.
"Fie! For shame! Pussee, whatt a noise you are making," expostulated Blanche. "Do be quiet."
"Oh, Pussy," cried a girl, leaning over and addressing herself to her, "Dom is too grand to look at me now; she is always in the station; they say she will marry an officer. Whatt do you think?"
"Aré Bap! don't ask me," cried Pussy; "ask Dom."
"But I dare not. I hear Dom will sing at the concert," resumed the girl; "we shall all go and hear her, and pay eight annas. Whatt a voice; where did she get it? where does she keep it?"
"But I do not like it," interposed Ada Diaz; "it is so big, it hurts my head; and tell us, Pussy, who is the little officer so awfully in love with Dom?"
"I believe it is quite a case!" added another uneasily.
"Oh, I don't know," said Pussy, helping herself to sweets. "There is often some one in love with her, but she is so hard to please; she has such grand notions."
On the other hand Blanche was saying: