"Why, father, I thought you were manager?"
"I!"—in a tone of ironical scorn. "No; I'm a mere bottle-washer, a subordinate, and will never be anything else."
They now dashed by a group of people who were playing tennis with screams and shoutings; and paused abruptly in their game to stare; and drove on to a bungalow half-concealed from the road by thick bushes; the porch and verandah were entirely screened with lattice work.
As they approached Verona's heart beat fast, and she was aware of several white figures—which had hitherto been stationed like outposts—flying within to give notice of her arrival.
But when the victoria came to a standstill under the porch there was no one to be seen, and the girl was conscious of her father's long indrawn breath, as he handed her out and said:
"I think they are all a little afraid—a little shy, of their English sister. Come into the house and I will fetch them."
The drawing-room opened directly into the verandah, and on first entering it seemed dark; but Verona soon groped her way to a sofa and sat down to wait, whilst her father departed in order to summon the family.
CHAPTER XI
As Verona waited alone in this dim, unfamiliar room, her heart throbbed quickly; more than once she caught her breath with an involuntary gasp, for she realized that she was on the threshold of the most momentous event of her life; within the next few seconds she would be face to face with her mother.
Picture the situation! For twenty years this girl had lived with strangers, moving among friendly family circles, but belonging to none; secretly envious of home and blood ties. Although she bestowed her affections generously, an enormous reserve fund was stored up in her heart, ready to be lavished on someone near and dear, and someone near and dear was coming now. As she gazed with eyes grown deep with longing towards the curtained doors, her feelings were indescribable; in spite of the close, airless atmosphere, she was icy cold, and her clammy hands trembled in her lap.