What a relief, if only for a moment, to get that ceaseless chatter out of her ears! To have a little breathing space in which to realize her position! Verona was conscious of a sick buzzing in her brain as she sat down, closed her eyes tightly, and endeavoured to collect her thoughts, and lay hold of her self-possession. Truly, she had found her own people; she was one of them now—always and for ever! No wonder she had felt drawn to the East, since its blood ran in her veins! Her outlook on life must be entirely re-focussed; her former aims and illusions lay shattered around her. The unhappy girl sat there, as it were, among the very ruins of her hopes. But solitude and meditation were luxuries far too valuable to be enjoyed for any length of time. A loud thumping on the door aroused Verona from a sort of stupor, and a voice called: "Rona, Rona, dinner! Come a—long!" Outside in the passage Pussy was waiting in ambush, and when her sister appeared, literally fell upon her, and led her triumphantly into the dining-room.
Mrs. Chandos was already seated at table, soup ladle in hand. She had made no change in her dress, but her husband—who hurried in with a muttered apology—wore a white open coat, white shirt and red silk cummerbund, the lingering instinct of the English officer and gentleman. A yellow shaded lamp in the middle of the table was supported by two dishes, one of custard apples and the other of butter cakes. The meal itself was solid and plentiful, and consisted of river fish, baked kid, curry, and cocoanut pudding. Most of the menu was absolutely new to Verona, but although she had not tasted food for hours she was unable to eat; her throat felt constricted and her head burned. Mrs. Chandos viewed such a poor appetite as a direct personal grievance, and—despite her daughter's almost tearful protestations, hinted at "airs" and "pride." The other young people ate heartily, not to say gluttonously, and devoured the hot curry and butter cakes with a relish that was amazing. Beyond a little wrangling among themselves (Verona caught such expressions as "You get out!" "You don't talk to me like thatt!"), they contributed nothing to the general conversation. The head of the house wore the rigid look of a mask and scarcely opened his lips; he was far more taciturn than during the drive from the station, but his wife made ample compensation for all deficiencies by continually scolding the servants and plying Verona with sharp questions—questions respecting money, accomplishments, acquaintances! questions resembling a series of darts shot by a sure hand. She could scarcely trust herself to speak of the Gowdys; when she touched on the subject her voice became shrill and hysterical. Mrs. Chandos appeared to be bitterly disappointed that her daughter had no acquaintances in the regiment at Rajahpore—or, indeed, as far as she knew—in India, and she had made no "nice friends" on board ship.
"But whatt is the use of the P. & O., but for making useful friends?" argued Mrs. Chandos; "you might as well have come out in a cheap line. The Finlays, of the railway, came out in the Peninsula with people who asked Tilly up to Simla. Of course, they did not hear that old Finlay was once a platelayer, but Lizzie Finlay is a clever girl; oh, she is a sharp one! No? Now, boy, whatt are you about?"—turning fiercely on a servant who had upset some gravy—"whatt a stupid pig you are! Yes! you did see! Whatt do you go telling lies for? Look at the cloth! When first we were married"—addressing Verona—"Mr. Chandos was so particular he would always have two clean tablecloths a day, and now we have two a week; it is all habit! He has got used to things, and to being poor and a nobody."
"But father may have a great fortune some day," proclaimed Dominga, in a loud, exultant key, and as she spoke she planted both elbows firmly on the table.
"You don't know what you are talking about!" muttered Mr. Chandos into his moustache; "I have never said so."
"Oh, but he may! A beautiful place in England; Mr. Chandos always goes on like that; we don't mind him," declared his wife with a toss of her head.
"And then you will see where we come in!" resumed Dominga; "you will see what carriages and clothes we will have. Oh, there will be no more of this dirty sugar work then!"
"Ah, but 'Delhi is still a long way off,'" quoted Pussy, with a sly laugh.
"Oh, you choop! do," cried her sister; "you shut up; you are as bad as Nani with your native proverbs. We must take Rona into Rajahpore. Goody me, how the people will stare! They don't know of our new sister."
"I say, I wonder what they will call her?" growled Nicky, speaking with his mouth full of custard apple, and staring reflectively at the recent arrival. "Dom," indicating his sister with a spoon, "is called 'Red Chandos'; Pussy is 'Black Chandos,' father is 'Old Chandos,' I am 'Inky Chandos,' and mother——"