"Thank you," faltered Verona; "you are very kind," and she looked interrogatively at her parent.
"Oh no, no," she rejoined, with energy; "I could not think of it. Mrs. Lepell, I cannot have one girl more favoured than another; you recollect when Dominga was ill you never invited her—and you have known her almost since she was a baby. If I allow Verona to visit you, 'and she a stranger,' Dominga would be so awfully hurt; she has such a feeling heart, and she is so fond of you."
"Well, I suppose she will not object if I take her sister for a drive?" said Mrs. Lepell, rather sharply.
To this project Mrs. Chandos accorded an unwilling assent, and presently the Trotters were greatly edified by beholding poor whitefaced Verona stagger out to Mrs. Lepell's luxurious victoria, Pussy following her with pillows and propping her up with care.
It was a lovely soft evening, and Mrs. Lepell allowed the girl time to enjoy her surroundings before she commenced to talk. She glanced at her as she lay back among the cushions; what a fine, high-bred face it was! although so wan and languorous.
"About here the country is all very flat," she began, "cane and millet crops, millet crops and cane! Now and then you notice one enormous, solitary tree, the last of the forest perhaps. See that one yonder—more than a mile away; I've often thought I would like to make a nearer acquaintance, but he stands encompassed by wheat. Every time I drive out I look at him and bow, for we have been friends for twenty years. There, on the left, you may notice the city in the distance—beyond the city the spire of the cantonment; but we will go for a drive into the country, and you will like that best."
Verona nodded her head as Mrs. Lepell's black Australian steppers flew along a flat, red road bordered with high cane crops and acacia trees. Now and then, they passed a cluster of huts or a drove of goats, and once they met a tall, two-storied cage on wheels, drawn by a camel, full of chattering travellers.
"The mail-cart to Beetapore!" announced Mrs. Lepell, with a laugh. Then—"you are better, are you not, my dear?"
"I am afraid I am," she answered, half under her breath.
"My dear, you must not talk like that," said Mrs. Lepell, laying her hand on hers. "Fever does leave one a wreck; I know exactly how you feel."