"Ah! I know you're going to say 'Miss Snoad,'" she continued, and her little green eyes danced gleefully, "but I am Mrs. Barwell now; my husband is a Major in the Muffineers. Who would have thought of seeing you out here? I suppose you are globe-trotting. How is Madame de Godez?"
These questions were poured forth so rapidly that Verona had no time to reply.
"Madame de Godez is dead; she died very suddenly last March."
"Oh!" ejaculated Mrs. Barwell. Undoubtedly Madame de Godez's heiress stood before her, the happy owner of fifteen thousand a year! "And only fancy your being at Rajahpore! I suppose you have a smart chaperone—some lady of title. You must both come and stay with me—a good long visit."
"Thank you very much, but I am with my own relations," replied Verona.
"Why—I never knew you had any relations in India."
"Nor did I, until within the last few months."
"Who are they?" asked the lady breathlessly. "What is their name?"
"Chandos; they live at Manora."
"What! Those people?" and Mrs. Barwell's voice grew shrill, her face became quite pink, as she collapsed on a chair and exclaimed: