Her own People by B. M. Croker

The hot weather had driven most of the residents in Rajahpore to the hills. Mrs. Lepell had departed to Naini Tal, having vainly urged Verona to accompany her, but Verona refused to leave home, and boldly declared that she would like to find out if all the tales about the season were true? The crops were reaped; where yellow grain and green vetches had flourished was now but miles and miles of a substance resembling red sandstone. The trees were leafless; the hot wind roared about the country, driving clouds of sulphur-coloured dust before it, and the thermometer was over a hundred in the shade. The doors of the bungalow were fitted with transferable screens made of matting; over these a coolie poured water continually, in order to establish a damp atmosphere.

The punkah swung lazily in the darkened room, in which sat Pussy and Verona, and occasionally Mr. Chandos, but Mrs. Chandos and Dominga made no effort to exert themselves; the latter lay brooding on her bed for hours with a packet of love letters under her head. The expedition had duly come off. Jimmy was away in the Terai, tiger-shooting with his cousin, Captain Haig, and Dom was deserted and distraught. She became thin, haggard, and unbearably restless; she spent hours writing letters -- and lived upon those she received. Dom rarely left the house nowadays, and made not the slightest attempt to conceal her indifference to Baby Charles. There had been no more notes for him in "Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management," and on the rare occasions when they happened to meet she snubbed him ruthlessly.