"Yes, yes, yes; and this is my other daughter, Dominga. I daresay you have met Dom at the tennis——"
Mrs. Barwell merely closed her eyes at Dominga, and turning abruptly to Verona, said:
"Now, when will you come to see me?"
"I really cannot say."
"Oh, you can have the victoria any day," volunteered her mother with gushing officiousness.
"Let me see," said Mrs. Barwell, "Wednesday is the polo; suppose you come to tea and we go on there afterwards. There is to be a grand match, and a number of people are coming over from Cheepore."
Mrs. Chandos once more put herself forward, and with eager volubility promised her daughter's company without fail, and after a few little speeches Mrs. Barwell left the library.
"Whatt luck!" cried Mrs. Chandos. "Dominga, you can not play tennis; you must come down with me to the bazaar and get a pair of shoes. Whatt luck! Whatt luck!" she kept repeating. "Whatt luck!"
Verona failed to see any connection between the word "luck" and Dominga's new kid shoes, but she understood this puzzle later.
When Wednesday came, Verona—who was exceedingly reluctant to fulfil her engagement to Mrs. Barwell—was astonished to find that Dominga was to bear her company! Dominga, arrayed in her own best green foulard and one of "Suzanne's" celebrated hats, was dragging on a pair of new white gloves as she entered the drawing-room.