"But father swore you should come, and he wrote himself—he who never writes. Do you know, when mother got your letter she screamed for three whole hours! She always does that when she is awfully angry. Oh, she is not angry now she has seen you; no, no, no, she is proud! I heard her this morning talking over the wall to Mrs. Trotter, and boasting of your air and figure. But still I think Dominga will always be first."
"And why not? My mother has had her with her since she was born, and I am, as you know, a stranger."
"You won't be long so," declared Pussy; "you will soon be at home, I can see. Just look how you've put away your things and arranged this room. Now, I must tell you something about the people all round before they come to call—so you will know. First of all there are Mr. and Mrs. Lepell in the big bungalow; he is the manager of the factory, and draws two thousand rupees a month; he is nice and friendly, but we never get to know her any better. Oh, she is not exactly proud, but she keeps us off. Her father was a big swell, and she has a fortune. She is not at all young; mother says she must be five-and-forty, but she dresses beautifully, and gives such fine parties; they entertain the whole station like a king and queen. Yess, she is quite the Burra Mem Sahib, and only asks us to her small affairs, when we meet just the other factory people. Mother hates her—oh, goody me!—like poison, but is always awfully pleasant to her, and sends her her best mango jelly and chutney, because she hopes she may take up Dominga. She did ask Dom once to sing, and if Mrs. Lepell would chaperon Dom into society, her fortune would be made. Oh, my, yess!"
"I see," assented her listener, "and it is with this hope that mother sends her mango jam?"
"Of course. Then there are the Trotters," resumed Pussy, with an air of complacent narration; "he was only a sergeant in some regiment, and he is the engineer here; they say he is very clever—just a common, rough man, with such a pushing family. There is Mrs. Trotter and Amelia and Georgina, Louisa and Tom. Tom is in the works. He and Dominga used to be pals; but she threw him over long ago. The Trotters are always looking down on us, because we have never been home, and they were born in England; but they are coolie people, and our father is an officer and a gentleman. Sometimes we are awfully friendly with the Trotters, and in and out ten times a day; sometimes we don't speak for months. Last time we quarrelled was about a bottle of anchovy sauce which they never returned.
"Then there are the Watkins, a newly-married couple, out from Manchester. He is secretary; she is awfully prim, and afraid to know any one, and dresses for dinner when they are quite alone, and talks of her father keeping two gardeners. There are the Cavalhos; they are just half-castes; oh, so dark, and yet not bad. I like them; they are awfully good natured. When anyone is in trouble they all run to Mistress Cavalho. Also, there are the Olivers—gone home on leave—very nice people and not stiff, though they are gentry folk. There are some young men clerks—Raymond, and Smith and Mackenzie. We all meet at the tennis three times a week and play together, whether we are friends or not. Then there is Salwey——" She paused.
"Who is he?" inquired Verona, feigning an interest which she was far from feeling.
"The police officer, a nephew of Mrs. Lepell's; he lives in cantonments. He is so strict and severe. Oh, mother does hate him—I believe she is afraid of him!"
"How can he possibly affect mother?" inquired Verona, as she sorted out some gloves.
"Of course, not at all, but he gives you the horrid notion that he can read your thoughts, and knows every single little thing about you. Whenever he looks at me, I can't help wriggling like an insect on a pin, and mother declares that he has the evil eye!"