Verona listened, mentally benumbed; her eyes seemed too large for her face; she looked white and worn, and years older than the girl who so eagerly alighted at Rajahpore an hour previously; but of all the gazing group, the wretched girl's father alone comprehended her sensations; his heart ached for her cruel disillusion. He had intended to drop a word, a little, little hint on their way home—but cowardice had laid her finger on his lips!
"I am sure your sister is tired," he said, glancing hurriedly at Pussy as he spoke; he dared not meet Verona's eyes, tragic with misery and pain. "Take her away, like a good girl, and show her her room." Oh, thrice, thrice blessed escape! Pussy, the ever impulsive, instantly flung her arm round Verona's waist, while Dominga held aside the purdah, and the three sisters passed forth.
"Of course, it is all strange to you at first," began Dominga, leading the way with a swaggering gait and the heavy trail of some sickly perfume, "but you will soon seem like one of the family, you will see, and just as if you had lived here arl-ways."
What a prospect!
CHAPTER XII
The apartment into which Verona was formally conducted proved large and airy—somewhat of the barn-like type.
"And you're to have it to yourself!" announced Dominga, with an impressive gesture. "Father made an awful fuss, and had it newly matted, and white-washed, and see! it opens on the back verandah." As she spoke she unfastened a glass door and admitted a splendid Eastern moon, which illuminated the whole country and displayed a wide river within a few yards of the bungalow. The room was furnished in simple Indian style; a small cot, large wardrobe and bare dressing-table, on which stood a bowl of exquisite roses. Dominga indicated with increased complacency a rickety little Davenport. "Father had it put in; he said English ladies write letters in their bedrooms."
"It was very thoughtful of him," murmured Verona, and oh, how devoutly she wished that these two girls would go away and leave her to herself. But no! having been cut off from her society for so many years, her sisters were anxious—not to say determined—to enjoy it now. They fidgetted round the dressing-table, talking incessantly and together, devouring her all the time with their eyes. "My! what wonderful hair you have!" cried Pussy, when Verona removed her hat, "and every bit as much as Dominga. Just look, Dom."
Dominga nodded acquiescence as she stroked it with a patronising touch, and declared:
"Oh, yes—it is theek." Then she glanced into the mirror, which was large, and portrayed two faces—nay, three—for Pussy now leant forward, and added herself to the group.