"I want to introduce you to a friend of ours," began Violet; "a third cousin, in fact. She only came this morning. She's over from New Zealand."
"I'd forgotten you had any colonial relations," observed Diccon.
"Oh, yes! A great-uncle of Mother's went out to Auckland years and years ago, and married a native. I had just a peep at this cousin when we were in London. Of course she's very peculiar-looking, but we like her, don't we, Mildred? I rather admire her dark complexion."
"She's absolutely ripping!" affirmed Mildred cordially.
"I thought I'd better prepare you for the fact that she's a real New Zealander," continued Violet. "Come along and see her. She's sitting in the gun-room. She seems to like it better than anywhere else in the house."
"Queer taste for a girl," commented Diccon.
"She enjoys being amongst weapons," explained Violet. "I suppose it's a savage instinct. It takes a long time to eradicate the old Adam. Her New Zealand grandfather was a very warlike character."
"They're not called tomahawks in New Zealand. You're thinking of Fenimore Cooper's American Indians. But never mind, come and be introduced to Rata."
"Oh, well enough! Look here, what am I to say? Does she speak English?"
"Quite decently. You'll have no difficulty in understanding her. I shall just introduce you."
"Why, you must shake hands. She'll expect it. She's given up rubbing noses since she came to England."
"Oh, I say!" murmured Diccon faintly. "I don't think I feel quite well. My head aches."
But Violet ignored his plaintive excuse, and firmly led the way to the gun-room. Squatting on a low stool near the window, reading a New Zealand paper, was a decidedly queer-looking figure--odd, at any rate, to English eyes. The face and hands were very dark, and both cheeks and forehead were tattooed all over with an intricate pattern in red and blue. A magenta silk scarf was tied over the head, completely hiding the hair, and a huge pair of ear-rings drooped over the dusky neck. The girl was dressed in a bright petticoat, with a striped rug flung round her shoulders; her wrists were loaded with native-looking bangles, and she wore slippers of plaited grass. She took no notice at all when the door opened, but simply went on reading.