"Pah! pah! pah! you are no judge, Rosa! You have only eyes for that red cat of yours; and I tell you this child," and she pointed to Verona, "has a face that will make her fortune; it may be, arl your fortunes."
"And that reminds me of the money," said Mrs. Chandos, with a sudden start—"the three hundred pounds fortune. Did you bring it in sovereigns, Verona, as we wished?"
"Yes, it is all in my dressing bag."
"Ayah, ayahjee!" and Mrs. Chandos went screaming to the door. "Go, fetch the Missy's big leather bag, and bring it here, quick, quick! quick! Or, wait! I go myself," and she darted into the moonlight.
"She is wonderful, your mother," remarked the old woman; "so sharp about money! Such a manager! Great show outside, and pinching in the belly; but she will have it thus, since there are so many to feed, and young girls to marry. Her wishes are high."
"Yes," assented her daughter mechanically.
"Arl-day she works so hard in the office next door, doing figures and accounts. She owns a few little houses in the bazaar, and adds on to the pay. It is not much, two hundred a month."
"Pounds?" suggested her companion.
"No! rupees—that is to say, shillings. But she is a manager."
"Well, here it is," panted Mrs. Chandos, pushing open the door with her foot, and entering bag in hand; "now let us see the money."