'There's a good little sister.'

'Don't palaver me, sir,' burst forth Netta, as soon as her door was closed. 'You are all unfeeling, unnatural, cruel, selfish, hard-hearted heathens! You don't care for me or Howel any more than as if we were strangers. Father don't mind what he drives me to, and mother cares more for that Irish beggar than for me--I know she does. I did think you would be our friend, and now you are as stiff and unfeeling as Rowland.

Seure you are,'

'Why, if I was a parson like Rowland, I'd marry you to-morrow.'

'Then, why don't you try to bring father round. You know he thinks more of you than of anybody else.'

'It's no use trying; n.o.body but mother has any influence with father, and she is not sure that 'tis right or good for you and Howel to marry.'

'She is cruel and unkind,' sobbed Netta; 'I don't believe any one really loves me but Howel,'

'Stick to that, Netta; 'I for one haven't a spark of affection for you.

All father wants is to get rid of you, and that is why he is in such a hurry for you to make such a grand match!'

'Oh! indeed! he and all the rest of you are as jealous of Howel's good fortune as you can be,--you know you are. And you wouldn't like to see me a grand lady, grander than Miss Rice or Miss Nugent even. Won't I let them know I'm somebody, and not to be looked down upon any more, that's all!'

Hereupon Netta wiped her eyes, and walked up and down the room grandly, whilst Owen burst out laughing,

'I beg you to go out of, my room, Owen!' said Netta, stamping her foot and getting into a pa.s.sion. 'One can't expect manners or sympathy from seafaring porcupines like you. Go away directly. Why, John James, the carter, is genteeler than a great coa.r.s.e sailor such as you. Go you away, I say.'

'You ought to have said a seafaring dolphin or whale; they don't pay twopence a week to learn manners, like you land-lubbers. When you want me you may send for me.'

Owen went off very much offended, leaving Netta to cogitate upon the cruelty of her relations.

In the course of that afternoon, a very well-dressed woman, in the deepest of sables, was seen going down the road to the farm. She went round through the garden to the gla.s.s-door, disdaining the yard, knocked a great many times, to the great astonishment, of Shanno, and was at last admitted, as Mrs Griffith Jenkins. Shanno, all reverence at sight of the c.r.a.pe bonnet, c.r.a.pe veil, and widow's cap, ushered her into the parlour, feeling that a chasm now lay between her and the dame she had last seen in a high-crowned Welsh hat, striped flannel gown, and checked ap.r.o.n. Having duly dusted a chair with her skirts, Shanno glanced at Mrs Jenkins, and was about to leave the room, when Mrs Jenkins said,--

'Tell you your missus that I am coming on particular business and wish to speak with her in private. Here, stop you, Shanno, where is Miss Netta? I 'ouldn't mind giving you a shilling to tell her I was wanting to see her before I am seeing her mother.'

The shilling was offered, and received with much satisfaction and an intelligent grin, and in less than five minutes Netta was with Mrs Jenkins.

'Deet to goodness, and you do look very poorly, Netta, fach!' said that worthy, 'Howel was telling me to see you, and to be giving you this note. Give you another to Shanno before I will be going away, and I will give it to my Howel. Annwyl! you shall be seeing my Howel, now; how he do look a horseback. Beauty seure! he do say you will have a horse, too.

There, go you? tell Shanno to tell your mother that I do be glad to see her, let her tak' care how she do refuse you again.'

Netta escaped with her note, and was soon succeeded by Mrs Prothero, who shook hands in a trembling, frightened way with Mrs Jenkins, who, on the contrary, strong in the consciousness of fortune and new apparel, was perfectly self-possessed. She began at once.

'I am coming about my Howel and your Netta, Mrs Prothero Howel is in a fine temper, keeping noise enough, I can tell you; and I should like to be knowing why he isn't good enough for your doater, Mrs Prothero; him as is worth hundreds of thousands, and is as like to be coming a member, and to be riding in his own carriage, and to be dining with the Queen for that much! and seurely, he don't be good enough for Miss Prothero Glanyravon Farm! Ach a fi! some peoples do be setting themselves up! my Howel, too! So handsome, and genteel, so full of learning! Name o'

goodness what would you have, Mrs Prothero, Glanyravon Farm?'

Mrs Jenkins paused with a long emphasis on the farm.

'I am very sorry, Mrs Jenkins,' began trembling Mrs Prothero rubbing one hand nervously over the other, 'but my husband is afraid that Howel is not quite steady enough for such a giddy young thing as Netta.'

'Study! why, tak' your time and you'll be seeing how study and pretty he do behave. On my deet, and I 'ouldn't say that, if I wasn't as seure as I'm alive, he haven't took a drop too much, nor said a wicked word, nor keep no low company since his poor dear father was dying. Ah, Mrs Prothero! you was being very good to us when I was losing my poor Griffey. Who'd be thinking what a heap of money he'd be leaving, and Howel'll be building a good house for me? and seure, I must be dressing in my best, and having servants to wait on me? and, bless you, nothing as my son Howel's can be getting is too good for his poor old mother!'

'I am very glad to hear he is so kind,' said Mrs Prothero.

'Then what do you say about Netta, Mrs Prothero, fach?' sharply asked Mrs Jenkins.

'To tell you the truth, I have very little power; my husband made up his mind and wrote the note without consulting me.'

'Then maybe I could be seeing Mr Prothero?'

'I am afraid it would only lead to something unpleasant between you.'

'Oh, you needn't be taking the trouble to be afraid, ma'am! I am calling my Howel as good or better as your Netta. There was a time when you might been looking higher, but now I conceit it, it will be us as do condescend. There's Miss Rice Rice, and the Miss Jamms's, Plas Newydd, and Miss Lawis, Pontammon, and Miss Colonel Rees, and Miss Jones the 'Torney, and Miss Captain Thomas, and I 'ouldn't say but Miss Gwynne, Glanyravon, do be all speaking, and talking, and walking, and dancing with my Howels! There's for you: and yet he do like his cousin Netta best he do say.'

'If you wish to see David, Mrs Griffey, I will call him,' said timid Mrs Prothero, at her wits' end for anything to say or do.

'Seurely I am wishing to see him,' said Mrs Jenkins majestically.

David had not come in from his farm, so there was nothing for it but to ask Mrs Jenkins to take off her bonnet and have some tea, to which that lady graciously consented. When the c.r.a.pe shawl and black kid gloves were removed Mrs Prothero perceived a large mourning brooch, containing a gloomy picture of a tomb, set in pearls and diamonds, and surrounded by the age, death, etc., of the lamented deceased; and a handsome mourning ring, displaying a portion of iron-grey hair, also set in pearls and diamonds, and surrounded with an appropriate epithalamium.

Mrs Prothero sat 'washing her hands in invisible soap,' whilst she saw these ensigns of grandeur in the once mean, ill-dressed Mrs Jenkins, and heard of all that 'her Howels' was about to effect.

Owen came in, and with due gravity admired the mourning insignia, and examined the dates, age, etc., of the defunct Griffey. He went so far as to venture upon a distant allusion to the future.

'I never thought those caps so becoming before, Aunt Jenkins,' he said, eyeing her from head to foot, and wondering that he had never previously been aware of what a good-looking woman his Welsh aunt was.

A Welsh aunt, be it understood, is your father or mother's cousin, and Mrs Jenkins and Mr Prothero were first cousins.

'Isn't Davies, Pennycoed, that you used to tell us was once a lover of yours, a widower?' continued Owen.

'Well, Owen,' said Mrs Jenkins, not displeased, 'you are always for jokes, but I do mean never to marry again.'

'Don't make any rash vows; a young woman like you!'

Here Netta having dried her eyes, joined the party, and shortly after Mr Prothero's voice was heard.

'After tea!' whispered Mrs Prothero to Mrs Jenkins, as she went out to meet her husband. 'Here's Elizabeth Jenkins, David, come over to see us, and she is going to stay to tea. I think she wants to speak to you afterwards.'

'Very glad to see her; but Howel sha'n't have Netta a bit the more for that.'

Mr Prothero put on a smart coat, brushed his hair, and came into the parlour, as became one about to meet a grand lady.

'How d'ye do, cousin 'Lizabeth? Glad to see you looking so well; welcome to Glanyravon.'

They shook hands, and as Mrs Jenkins made rather a grand attempt at a curtsey, Owen looked at Netta, and showed his white teeth; but Netta was as grave as a judge.

Mr Prothero was as much struck with the improvement in the widow's appearance as his son.

'Why, I declare, cousin 'Lizabeth, you look ten years younger than you did when I saw you last. Do you mind when we two used to go nutting together? If 'twasn't for my good 'ooman there--'

'I was just saying so, father,' interrupted Owen; 'don't you think Davies, Pennycoed--'

'I am not having no intentions of marrying again,' simpered the widow; 'wanst is enough. My poor Griffey.'

'Quite right, cousin 'Lizabeth, wan Griffey is enough, in all conscience.'