"Look here, Pussy, will you run in and ask your mother if you and Verona may come over to dinner? It will cheer up your sister. Don't be long, like a good girl."
As they waited, she turned to her nephew and said: "Poor girl, I suppose he could not face them! Brian, what makes you look so solemn?"
"My sins and the sermon," he answered with a short laugh. "By the way, Aunt Liz, I'm on the track of those jewels; I believe I've got a clue, but mum's the word."
At this moment they were joined by Pussy, who panted out, "Thanks awfully, Mrs. Lepell; we may both come."
At dinner that evening Verona was unusually white and silent. "So," said Salwey to himself, "she has been crying for that fellow. Little she knows how Pussy let her namesake out of the bag."
The chief part of the conversation was sustained by Mr. Lepell and Pussy, who, though a little daunted by the entrées and coloured wine glasses, was much elated to find herself dining in the big house. Her host noted how she was improved; she had ceased to giggle at the end of every sentence, and was really quite a pretty girl, with her liquid dark eyes, beautiful teeth and radiant smile.
Mr. Lepell was astonished when he realized that this sparkling, happy-looking guest was only little Pussy Chandos! They were discussing dreams, and during a lull in the talk her thin staccato tones were heard saying: "Oh, I do dream such strange dreams! They seem so real! Two or three times I dream of Dominga—always the same; she walks through my room in her hat with a wrap on her arm—just as if she was there. Last week I dreamt of her, and I called out, and she put her finger on her lips and was gone. Now, what can it mean, do you think?"
One of the khidmutgars in waiting caught the eye of his mate. They knew, but this by-play was lost on the company—with one exception.
"Did you tell your sister of these visions?" inquired Salwey.
"Oh, yes; and she said it was only nightmare. I think I had been having too much curried fish—I'm awfully fond of curry; when I see curry I must eat it."