'Not quite that yet,' began Owen, anxious to disclaim the captaincy, when he was interrupted by the entrance of one or two other men, who were, in their turn, named to him as Sir Samuel Spendall and Mr Deep. Owen did not like their appearance and looked towards his really lovely little sister, to see how she received them. Her manners had a mixture of affectation and simplicity that was rather taking than otherwise. And Owen wondered how Howel could leave one so young and pretty amongst three men of the world, which he soon discovered his new acquaintances to be. True, Miss Simpson was with her, and in the middle of breakfast, to which, in due time, they sat down, another lady came upon the scene, by name Madame Duvet, who turned out to be the English widow of a Frenchman. She was young, handsome, but over-bold for the taste of a man who was in love with Gladys.
She was at once taken with Owen's handsome face, and talked to him incessantly, whilst Captain Dancy seated himself near Netta, and devoted himself to her much more closely than Owen liked. However, he was very hungry, and managed to make a good breakfast.
He heard Netta telling Captain Dancy that her brother had been at sea all his life, and knew nothing of the fashionable world; at which he thought the ham he was eating would have choked him, in his effort to repress a laugh. He longed very much to knock down one of the 'Jeames's,' who would stand gazing at him, and did so far betray his indignation, as to ask him, when he came behind his chair, whether he saw anything remarkable in his appearance, which so amused Madame Duvet, that she exclaimed 'Charmant! brava! you make me crêver de rire.'
Owen was astonished at everything, but at nothing so much as at his sister. Netta had always aped the fine lady, and made the most of her few accomplishments; but now it was all like a fairy-tale, and the heroine was Netta, transformed by some fairy into a princess. By turns coquettish, affected, simple, languishing, accordingly as she feared she was too like her natural self—the Netta of the Farm was no more, and her representative was, to Owen at least, an anomaly. How she could have acquired such an amount of small talk, and such a mincing speech in nine months, was an enigma to him. London, Paris, the opera, the fashions, even the picture galleries, were alternately in her mouth; and she poured out tea and coffee, and laughed a silly laugh, much to her own satisfaction, and Owen's disgust, whilst all the men were looking at her; for assuredly she was very pretty.
'Owen,' she said, during a sudden pause in rather a noisy conversation, 'I hear Rowland is quite a fashionable preacher. Howel means to ask him down here, I believe. Miss Simpson went to hear him—didn't you, Miss Simpson?'
This was drawled out, and Owen felt very much disposed to get up and shake his sister, as he had often done when she came from school with any new airs and graces. But he contented himself with saying,——
'Rowly's a capital fellow, Netta, fach, and doing his best. Whether he's a fashionable preacher or not I don't know, but he kept us all awake at Llanfach one Sunday for half-an-hour, which is something.'
'Your brother is so amusing! so naïf! I die of him!' said Madame Duvet.
'Very original!' remarked Miss Simpson; 'I do like originality—'
'Then you must like Netta,' said Owen; 'for there was never any one of our family the least like her.'
'Oh yes! you are, about the eyes. Malin!' said Madame Duvet.
After breakfast, Owen tried to get Netta a little to himself, but there were distant calls to make, and drives and rides to be arranged, which caused him to be unsuccessful in his efforts. So he fell to the lot of Mr Deep, who took him to see Howel's hunters and dogs, and all the other wonders of Abertewey.
'Deep by name, and deep by nature,' was Owen's reflection, after his morning with his new acquaintance. 'He has managed to get all my secrets out of me, one excepted; but he has not confided any to me in return. One thing I suspect, however, that he has a turn for horse-racing and betting.'
Howel and Mr Simpson came home about six o'clock; and the whole party, with the addition of Mr Rice Rice, assembled at dinner. Howel had ordered his valet to see that 'Captain Prothero' was properly dressed; and, accordingly, Owen was obliged to put on a smart waistcoat and tie belonging to Howel, which greatly embellished his outer man, and gave him increased favour in the eyes of Madame Duvet and Miss Simpson.
He was more astounded than ever when he saw his sister in her evening costume.
'What do you think of her, Owen?' whispered Howel, as he stood literally gazing at her before dinner.
'I can't exactly say,' was the reply; 'but she is no longer Netta Prothero of the Farm.'
'I should imagine not!' said Howel. 'Pray don't let us talk of farms here, Owen. I don't like conversation that smells of the shop.'
'Not even of the old place where we used to steal lollilops?' asked Owen, maliciously.
Howel turned away for fear of being overheard, and devoted himself quite as much to Madame Duvet, as Captain Dancy still did to Netta; and Owen wondered on.
Again he looked at Netta, as she sat curled up on a sofa, a mere child in appearance, but so pretty, in white, with some sort of cherry-coloured ornaments for dress and head, that no one could possibly have recognised her as the country belle of twelve months ago. 'Her own mother would not know her!' thought Howel. 'Poor mother, she would scarcely care for all this grandeur, though one can't help envying it a little. I will be off to California, and come home and buy a place, and see whether Gladys would not be as good a fine lady as Netta.'
The dinner was grand; the servants were grand; all was grand to Owen's bewildered imagination. Madame Duvet made such very decided attempts to talk to him, however, that he was obliged to cease wondering, and to bring his usually versatile genius into play, in the light of all the grandeur. He got on so well with the lady, that Howel wondered in his turn, and after dinner told Owen that he verily believed if he played his cards well, he might make an impression on the pretty widow.
'One can do that, I should say, without any cards at all,' said Owen, showing his white teeth from amidst his big black beard.
When the ladies had left the dinner-table, Owen began to gain some insight into the characters and pursuits of Howel's guests. He had not spent thirteen or fourteen years amongst men of all ranks and all nations, without having acquired a shrewd judgment, and a tolerable knowledge of mankind.
The conversation turned at once upon hunting, racing, steeple-chasing, billiards, bets, and the like. It was evident that Howel, too, was well initiated into such matters. Mr Rice Rice asked him when the question of the hounds was to be decided, and Howel said that kennels were in preparation, and that he hoped to have a first-rate pack by the winter. There arose a dispute about a celebrated racer that Howel appeared to possess in London, and that was expected daily at Abertewey. Howel declared his intention of letting her run at the Carmarthen races. Captain Dancy, having heavy stakes on the mare, vowed it might disable her for the Derby, and words ran high; but Mr Deep interposed, and changed the subject to that of rouge et noir.
They sat over the dinner-table till nearly eleven o'clock, by which time they were all more or less exhilarated. Howel's wines were good, his cellar was well stocked, and he was lavish of everything that might give him a reputation amongst the Welsh squires that surrounded him, many of whom still worshipped at the shrine of Bacchus.
When they joined the ladies, Owen thought the conversation was rather too loud and boisterous. Captain Dancy alone was quite himself, and made Netta sing some little French songs to Owen's great amusement. After tea and coffee had been carried round, a card table appeared, and vingt-et-un was proposed. The stakes were so high that Owen trembled for his small stock of wealth? but to his astonishment again, he found himself, at the end of the evening, a gainer of nearly five pounds, although he had been most moderate in his own stakes. He was struck with the eagerness of Madame Duvet and Netta, who entered into the game with all the avidity of accomplished gamblers.
It was very late when they finished the game, and nominally retired for the night, but not late enough to prevent Howel, Captain Dancy, Mr Deep, and Sir Samuel Spendall from sitting down again to whist. Owen left them at it, not altogether satisfied with himself or his companions.
The following day, Owen again tried to get some private conversation with Howel or Netta, but in vain. The breakfast was even later than the previous morning, as Howel did not go out fishing, and afterwards there were more distant calls to make, and Netta was engaged in preparing her dress with her maid for a dinner-party at Mr Rice Rice's, at which she desired to appear particularly grand. The gentlemen were playing billiards part of the day, and riding the rest, in neither of which amusement Owen joined. Madame Duvet did her best to amuse him, and succeeded very well, for Owen was far from insensible to the charms of beauty, and, in spite of Gladys, could not resist flirting a little, in his own matter-of-fact way, with a pretty woman.
The three ladies, Captain Dancy and Howel, were the dinner guests at Mr Rice Rice's, the other gentlemen were invited for the dance in the evening. Young Rice Rice had given Owen a lame invitation the previous day, which he had declined; never having been in the habit of visiting him when at home, he did not choose to do so under Howel's countenance.
Owen's astonishment was brought to a climax that evening when his sister appeared dressed for this, her first public appearance on the small stage of a country-neighbourhood, or, to speak more respectfully, county visiting. It was Howel's pleasure that she should make it in point lace and diamonds. Not even to Owen was it whispered that the lace was a wonderfully good imitation, or that the diamonds, instead of being of the first water, were first-rate paste; and no one suspected the deception. The great millionnaire, Howel Jenkins, could well afford to give his pretty wife the real jewels and lace, and had the credit of so doing; and as no one, save himself and the jeweller, knew that they were false, he thought himself a very clever fellow for gaining the reputation of unbounded liberality upon very small means. Be it said, however, that his own studs, pin and ring, were real.
The French maid had eclipsed herself in Netta's toilet, and Owen felt that if she were not his sister, he must have fallen in love with her himself. The black roguish eyes sparkled like the brilliants she wore, and the complexion was scarcely rivalled by the roses she had in her bouquet.
Howel looked really proud of her, and it is not surprising that he felt greatly elevated as he took the reins from the coachman and drove off in his fine new carriage, drawn by capital horses, and attended by liveried servants.
His last whisper to Netta, before they entered Mr Rice Rice's drawing-room was, 'Keep up your consequence, and don't say, "Yes, indeed!" every minute.'
He was determined to keep up his own consequence, and began at once by patronising everybody present. There were some of the county gentry who had demurred as to calling on the old miser's son, and who were astonished at the kind of tone he assumed. They, who had been gravely considering whether they could possibly shake hands with him, found themselves on a level with, if not beneath him, at once, by mere effrontery. There is some truth in the saying that, 'Accordingly as you think of yourself, others will think of you;' and impudence and riches combined, together with a certain amount of talent and personal appearance, can overcome vast worldly obstacles. Besides did he not bring an unmarried baronet with him—one of the very ancient family of Spendalls—and the son and daughter of a man of title, and a captain of the dragoon guards? to say nothing of that fashionable widow, reputed a fortune. And were there not plenty of young ladies, poor if proud, in the county, wanting partners, either for dancing or life, or both?
After that evening, people sneered at home perhaps, but they called and invited and made much of the master and mistress of Plas Abertewey, forgetting or ignoring their origin.
Netta, too, obeyed Howel's last injunction to the best of her ability. Her youth and beauty were greatly in her favour, and her affectation covered the shyness and awkwardness that she felt in being suddenly thrown amongst people upon whom she had formerly looked with awe. The Nugents were there, but the Gwynnes were absent, and she had the pleasure of feeling that she had as many, if not more, partners than the heiress, Miss Nugent, and was much more grandly dressed. As for Miss Rice Rice, she fell quite into the shade before her.
Her old friend, Sir Hugh Pryse, was particularly attentive, and talked to her of Miss Gwynne; and Captain Dancy was as much devoted to her abroad as at home. Her head was quite turned, and nothing but the consciousness that Howel was present kept it on her shoulders at all; but the fear of a lecture for some mistake in manners kept her so much on her guard, that she got through the evening wonderfully, and achieved what Mme. Duvet called un grand succès.
And Howel danced, and talked, and introduced his friends, and patronised everybody, much as if he had been a feudal monarch amongst his barons. Here and there might have been seen a suppressed smile, as one of the company whispered to another, 'Where is Mrs Griffey Jenkins to-night? What would old Griff, the miser, say to those diamonds? I wonder his very ghost doesn't appear?' but still money won its usual way. And when Howel's chariot came to the door, there were more surprised and admiring eyes fixed upon it from the bystanders without, than on that of any other of the assembled party. As Mrs Griffey Jenkins said when she heard of the evening gaieties,—
'Deet to goodness, and my Howel's was grander than any one. I do answer for that. Now his is a beauty carriage and horses, and servants as grand as Queen Victoria's or Prince Albert's, for I did be seeing them in London myself.'
CHAPTER XXX.
THE PATRON.
Tuesday and Wednesday had passed quickly away, and Thursday brought to Owen amusements similar to those of the previous days; but no private intercourse with his relations. In the evening of his third day at Abertewey, there was a concert at the neighbouring town, huge bills of which had been posted up on the walls and houses of the said town, purporting that the entertainment was under the immediate patronage of Howel Jenkins, Esq. of Plas Abertewey, and his friends. Elegant little pink and blue programmes were scattered over that patriotic gentleman's tables, and he had used his eloquent language, and made great efforts to get together a large party for the occasion.
It was principally a Welsh concert, he urged, and he considered it right to patronise native talent. There was the celebrated Eos, and the last representative of the ancient bards, and the best specimen of a Welsh harper, besides several respectable English singers, and he, for one, should muster as many supporters as he possibly could.
He did so, accordingly, and with that spirit of liberality which characterised him when any popularity was to be acquired thereby purchased a great number of tickets, and distributed them amongst his servants and neighbours with majestic grace. He had managed to enlist a large party at Mr Rice Rice's the previous evening, some of whom were to dine at Abertewey, and to go thence to the concert; others to meet him and his friends there.
Owen felt lost in the grandeur of that evening, and would have been quite forgotten but for Mme. Duvet, who was constant in her admiration of him. But it was amusement and wonder enough for him to watch Howel and Netta, quite en prince et princesse, receiving their guests, who, if not as yet of the aristocracy of the county, were of high respectability and good position in it. If the host and hostess were rather desirous of showing how grand they were, their dinner and wines were so good as to cover their efforts.
What if their guests remarked, as guests will, gentle reader, when our backs are turned, that Howel was insufferably purse-proud and conceited, and his wife as affected and provincial as possible; they did not hear the friendly notices, and were well content to fill the concert room with their party, all in full dress, to the admiration of the townsfolk, and of Mrs Griffey Jenkins in particular.
Howel had quite forgotten his mother in his general invitation and did not even see her for some time, seated in a prominent position, and making one of his own party, to all appearance. She had saved his character for filial duty by going where he would little have thought of placing her, and awaiting his arrival, as her pride impelled her to do. Owen spied her at once, and took Mme. Duvet to the seat next her, on her left; whilst on her right sat Mr Deep, and nigh to him, of all people in the world, Mrs Rice Rice, that staunch supporter of family dignity.
Owen shook hands with Aunt 'Lizbeth, and introduced her to Madame Duvet and Mr Deep, after having asked them first of all whether they had seen her previously.
'I never had that honour,' said Madame Duvet, curtseying.
'I didn't be going to Abertewey since you was coming there, ma'am,' said Mrs Griffey, rising and curtseying, to the unspeakable diversion of Mrs Rice Rice and Mr Deep.
The reader may remember that Mrs Jenkins was at Abertewey when Howel made his triumphant entry there, but the following morning he gave her to understand, as delicately as he could, that the idiomatic translations of the Welsh language which had been so refreshing in London, would be better in her native town than at Abertewey, and she departed accordingly.
His ire may be imagined, when he suddenly heard the well-known idioms lavished upon Madame Duvet and Mr Deep, who were enjoying them a great deal more than the concert, which, being principally in the vernacular, was not so intelligible and far less amusing. Mrs Jenkins was in her glory. Never had Mrs Rice Rice been so condescending before. She and Mr Deep made themselves more agreeable than she had supposed it possible for such grand people to be, and she frequently glanced at Owen, as much as to say, 'And I am the person that your father turned out of doors!'
Owen, on his side, was sorry that he had exposed her to the sarcasm that she so little understood, and talked to Madame Duvet to withdraw attention from her.
As to Howel, his rising sun was obscured—his blushing honours were dimmed—his majesty, patronage, grandeur were lowered by the propinquity of his nearest of kin. In the midst of his county friends himself, he still felt that his mother was making herself ridiculous near at hand; whilst complimented and thanked for his patriotic support of native cos, [Footnote: Nightingales.] the native idioms rang in his ears, and he longed to annihilate them altogether. This on his right hand. On his left, Netta, looking literally like 'a rose in June,' and receiving the very marked attentions of Captain Dancy, on one side, and of Mr Rice Rice, junior, on the other. He scarcely knew which was most irritating, 'the idioms,' or her affected giggle. Trite but true is the proverb, 'There is no rose without its thorn;' and Howel was pricked severely by the thorns surrounding the rose of his first step into popularity.
Between the acts, and between the songs, Mrs Griffey went on something in this sort,—
'Indeet yes, sir! treue for you there. The Welsh is a splendit language. My son Howels—there he is to be proving it—do always say so. Ah! that's "The rising of the lark," I was singing that myself years ago. London! to be seure! Now there was singing I was hearing at the play. My son Howels did tak us to the play. I never was hearing or seeing the like in my life. Seure, the Queen Victoria or Prince Albert don't be dressing half as fine as the gentlemen and ladies I was seeing act. The Queen! Oh, Mrs Rice Rice, fach! Ma'am, I was disappointed! Just a bonnet no better than my doater-in-law's. What, sir! a crown? Not 'sactly a crown; but I was 'specting to see a queen different from other people. Hush! I do hear my son Howels cry, "Silence!" and they do be playing "Ap Shenkin." Not so bad that for Wales, Mrs Rice Rice. My son Howels do sing beautiful himself, and do play—Hush! look you at him. He don't like tolking in the music. He, he, he, sir! you do make me laugh. To be seure I don't mean to be marrying again, though men are so much for money. I am thinking you gentlemen 'ould be marrying your grandmothers for the beauty money! Not my son Howels, indeet! He don't be wanting money. He marry his cousin for love. Hush you! There's Pengoch beginning a Penyll! You don't be hearing anything like that in England. Ach a fi! my 'deet, I am sorry. "God save the Queen!" and it don't seem an hour since they began!'
Mrs Jenkins stood up with the rest, and beat time emphatically Scarcely was the last verse of 'God save the Queen' finished, when Howel came up to his mother, and biting his tongue to keep in his ire, said—
'Mother, I will see you safe first!' and without allowing her time to do more than make a curtsey to her companions, offered her his arm, and led her quickly down the room. He did not venture to speak to her, but nodding to one and another as he passed, said, 'I shall be back directly. I am just going to send my mother home first,' reached the door, and called for his carriage. It was close at hand, the hour for ordering the carriages being past; and he speedily put his mother into it. 'Drive Mrs Jenkins home, and return immediately,' he exclaimed.
'Which way, ma'am?' asked the servant.
'Go you down the street, then turn to the right, and the first house with a railing and steps, and a brass knocker,' said Mrs Jenkins, exulting as they drove off in her new dignity and importance. Howel, on the contrary, returned to the concert-room, cursing his folly for having settled in his native county, and wishing his mother anywhere else.
Nevertheless, he received the thanks of the conductor of the concert with bland humility, and expressed his intention of using all his best efforts in behalf of his country and countrymen. Finally he assisted in cloaking and shawling the ladies, seeing them to their carriages, and bidding them condescending good nights.
For himself, however, he had not a good night, being haunted with the demons of jealousy and discontent. As soon as Netta and he were alone, he addressed her in very different tones from those which he had called forth for the ladies of the concert-room.
'Netta, why do you let Dancy pay you such attentions?' he began, with a scowling brow and flashing eye.
'Why does Mme. Duvet let you pay her such attention?' was Netta's instant reply.
Now Netta was too well pleased with herself, and the effect of her beauty on others, to endure being snubbed, and was very angry that Howel was not pleased also.
'Don't be a fool, Netta. You know Madame Duvet is doing all she can to catch Owen.'
'Oh! jealous are you? Well, there were plenty of other ladies who let you pay them attention; why was that I wonder?'
'I tell you what it is, Netta, I won't allow Dancy to devote himself to you as he does.'
'Then you had better tell him so, I ain't going to do it; he's your friend, and if he admires me, I think you ought to be proud of it.'
'You did nothing but flirt and giggle with him all the evening. What with you on one side and my mother on the other, I thought I must have left the room.'
'Giggle, indeed; I don't know what you mean, sir; you never eused to say I giggled.'
'Can't you say used, and not eused, you will never cease to be provincial,'
'Other folks are provincial, I think, besides me. If you said your own mother was provincial, it 'ould be true enough.'
'There again! if you are your own natural self, you leave out all your w's directly; I wish you would be careful, Netta.'
'Well, so do the French. I declare I won't speak again to-night, that I won't, you cross, unnatural, unfeeling fellow; and all because you're jealous of Owen. Madame Duvet says he's the handsomest man she ever saw, and that his beard is enough to win any woman's heart.'
'You had better hold your tongue, I think,' said Howel, stifling a laugh at the idea of Owen's irresistible beard; 'you never say a word of sense.'
'And you never say a kind word,' said Netta, breaking down at that last attack, and beginning to cry.
'Now don't blubber, and let all the house hear you.'
'I wonder whether leaving out a w is half as vulgar as to tell one's wife not to blubber. But I won't speak to you again. I wish I hadn't married you, I do.'
'I wish to heaven you hadn't.'
At this Netta began to sob very much, and Howel softened somewhat, but not sufficiently to make any excuse for his conduct; and Netta went to bed, proud, indignant, and unhappy, and wishing herself back again at Glanyravon.
The next morning, Owen remarked that Netta did not speak to Howel at all, and that she was very reserved and strange in her manner to Captain Dancy. The captain, however, took no notice of the change, but whilst he seemed to converse more than usual with Miss Simpson, anticipated all Netta's wants and wishes with most insinuating tact. Netta, with her changing colour, and half-pettish, half-shy manner, was still more attractive than Netta affected and silly. Owen thought that Howel felt this, for he went behind her chair, and put his hand on her shoulder, whilst he asked for some more sugar in his tea. Netta's lips pouted, but her eyes brightened as she said in a half whisper, 'You're sweeter than you were, Howel.'
Howel excused the common-place allusion to the sugar, in consideration of the bright face that looked up at him, and so the storm lulled for the present.
This was Owen's fourth day at Abertewey, and it was a facsimile of the second, with the exception that Mr and Miss Simpson and Mr Deep did not go to the dinner-party to which the rest went, at a neighbouring country house, so Owen had company at dinner, and was ordered by Netta to do the honours.
Miss Simpson refused to play whist, and Owen declined billiards, so whilst Mr Deep got as much money as he could out of Mr Simpson, Owen devoted himself and his captivating beard to Miss Simpson.
In the course of conversation that young lady informed him that she and her brother intended leaving Abertewey the following week, and that she supposed the rest of the party would soon follow for the Ascot Races, and she hoped Owen would join them; she was sure her papa and mamma would be very glad to see him. She also let out that her brother, Captain Dancy, and Howel had heavy bets on the different horses that were to run, and that she expected there would be great excitement. As to Mr Deep, nobody quite knew what he did, he was so very reserved and quiet.
Owen stayed on at Abertewey day after day, he scarcely knew why. In the first place, he was very well amused, and liked his quarters. In the second, his new friends all liked him; the women for his good looks and open-hearted civility, the men, because he took his own course and did not interfere with them, and was a very amusing fellow besides. In the third place, he stayed on because he felt anxious about Howel and Netta and their way of beginning life. He had been a man careless of money himself all his days, but he had been, as the saying goes, no one's enemy but his own—he feared that Howel might turn out, not only his own foe but the foe of others, since he perceived that the propensities of his unmonied youth were strengthening and maturing in his monied manhood. He had no opinion of any man who would fleece another, and he saw that Howel and Mr Deep were preying upon the simple, conceited Mr Simpson, and the careless, lavish Sir Samuel Spendall. As to Mr Deep, he watched his opportunity of outwitting either of the four as it offered.
Saturday came and passed, as usual, in visiting and gambling. A good many of the sporting men of the country called to see Howel's famous race-horse, Campaigner, in training for the St Leger, and to indulge in a little of the sporting gossip of the day, whilst their womankind indulged in more general, and equally intellectual, country gossip. Some of the young men stayed to dinner, and when Miss Simpson had duly played her waltzes, and Netta had gone through her French songs, vingt-et-un was proposed.
Owen took his customary place by Madame Duvet, and played his usual game. But he had not the luck of the previous evening, and soon lost the five pounds he then won, and very nearly the little he possessed besides. When he knew that he was within a few shillings of bankruptcy he said,—
'I am very sorry to leave such agreeable society, but if I play any more I shall never get to sea. Look at my purse!' holding it up and shaking it, 'it is very nearly empty.'
'Luck will change,' said Madame Duvet. 'You shall go partners with me,' pointing to a large heap of money and counters.
'I should be only too happy if I could bring anything to the bank, said Owen; 'but I am too proud to be a penniless partner.'
'You need only bring yourself,' said Madame Duvet, lowering her voice, and giving such a glance from a pair of fine black eyes as few men could have withstood.
Perhaps Owen would have yielded to it, for he was by no means a hero, had not a sudden vision of Gladys passed before his mind, followed by one of his mother, just as he had seen her when she bade him that last solemn good-night only the Tuesday in that very week. How the vision came he knew not, nor did he pause to ask; but it gave him strength to resist the temptation to begin regular gambling, a vice he had hitherto steadily avoided.
'No,' he said, with a merry laugh; 'I cannot afford to run into debt.'
'Mortgage those entailed farms of yours,' said Howel. 'I wouldn't mind lending you a trifle on them.'
'And I will lend you five pounds without a mortgage,' said Netta.
'Can't afford to borrow or mortgage,' laughed Owen. 'Besides it is nearly Sunday morning, and we must all break up directly,' so he slipped away from his seat, looked on for a few minutes, and when the party were again absorbed in their game, went to bed.
'Well,' he thought; 'I am not as particular as I ought to be, I know, myself; but to play cards into Sunday morning! I could not do this. What would my poor mother say of Netta if she knew it? I will have a serious conversation with her to-morrow, when I suppose she will have an hour to spare, and be off on Monday. I almost wish I had never come. That Madame Duvet, too! One cannot help paying her attention, and she is very handsome and agreeable; but even if there were no Gladys, she wouldn't suit me; and here am I almost making her believe—Pashaw! She don't care for me. What a vain fellow I am! But, I suppose, as Netta says, they admire my beard. All but Gladys, who won't even look at it, or me. I wonder what she would think of me in the midst of all these fine people, dressed up in Howel's London attire! At any rate I shouldn't be half as worthy of her good opinion as when I carried that unfortunate mash to the Alderney, which caused the rumpus with my father. How beautiful the girl looked, leaning upon that fortunate animal; and what a fool I made of myself on the other side of her! Well, I was never so happy at home before; and I know it isn't right to leave my father and mother; and I have never done any good all my life; and I, the eldest son, and very nearly thirty years of age! Poor uncle and aunt gave me an education, to very little purpose I fear; and I shall have to answer for the use I have made of it, just as those Sabbath-breakers downstairs will have to answer for profaning this holy day. Half of it is the force of example. Here is Howel leading Netta to destruction, just as Gladys might lead me to—heaven, I verily believe. Rowland used to argue with me about individual responsibility, and I suppose he was in the right of it.'
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE PATRON'S WIFE.
The following morning, Netta was not well, and did not appear at the breakfast-table. Howel said she had a bad headache, and did not intend going to church.
Breakfast was hurried over to prepare for a six miles' drive to church, and the carriage conveyed the two ladies and three of the gentlemen thither, resplendent with fashion and emblazoned prayer-books. Mr Deep did not go, and Owen determined to remain at home, in order to secure the desired conversation with Netta.
Mr Deep, however, seized upon him first of all.
It had not escaped that keen observer, that Howel had hinted the previous evening that Owen possessed property in reversion; which, indeed, he did, inasmuch as his father was a small landed proprietor, and had several farms of his own, descended to him from his father, and entailed upon Owen.
Mr Deep was reading some racing calendar, and called Owen's attention to his brother-in-law's name in connection with the names of men of note on the turf. Also to his horse, Campaigner as being one of those entered for the Ascot races.
Then he went very cautiously to work to see whether he could not induce Owen to bet; but he, holding up again his nearly empty purse, laughed his merry laugh, and said,—-
'I am not to be caught, Mr Deep. I hate horse-racing, and never laid a wager of any kind in my life. That is the only redeeming point in my character. Wild enough I have been, and roving all my life, but I never gambled. Excuse me now, as I must go and see my sister.'
He went accordingly to Netta's room, and after knocking at the door, and hearing that she was still in bed, entered unceremoniously. He was at once struck with the difference between the Netta of the farm, in her little muslin night-cap, that he had often fairly pulled off, to get her to promise to leave the pretty white-curtained bed, and the lady of Abertewey, in lace and fine linen, reclining beneath satin drapery, in a room furnished most luxuriously.
'Well, Netta, I have you alone at last; and now, if your head is not very bad, we will have a regular old-fashioned gossip,' said Owen, stooping to kiss the pretty flushed face of the little sister he dearly loved, despite her follies.
'Did you stop at home for me, Owen? How very kind! I don't think any one else would,' said Netta.
'Oh, yes, many others would if it were necessary; but I wanted to have you all to myself. Now I know you have been longing to ask me a hundred questions, but have never got beyond "How are they all at home?" yet.'
Netta blushed, and stammered out, as an apology, that she had never been at leisure one minute all the week.
By degrees she began to talk of home and her parents, and Owen was glad to find that as she did so she returned to her old, natural self. He told her everything that had happened at Glanyravon since she left it, save and except what related to Gladys. He never even mentioned her name.
Netta had various ebullitions of temper during their conversation and declared herself greatly aggrieved by her father's conduct.
'But it is just as well,' she said, 'for our positions are so different that we should never have got on comfortably. Howel is determined never to make up with father.'
'I am afraid he is not likely to have the option,' said Owen, gravely. 'But you should write and beg his pardon, Netta; you know you acted directly contrary to his wishes.'
'I think I would write, Owen, but Howel won't hear of it; he gets furious if I even name Glanyravon, and can't bear any of 'em except you.'
'Netta, I think you must use your influence to keep Howel from so much horse-racing and betting and card-playing.'
'He don't care for what I say, and goes in a passion when I advise him.'
'But surely you needn't play yourself as you do, and so late! Only think what my mother—'
'Nonsense, Owen. That would be very fine for Rowland; but you needn't take to lecturing. You never were a pattern brother or son either.'
Owen felt his sister's words more keenly than she intended.
'You are right, Netta, but I hope to mend. I must go away to-morrow in order that I may begin. I mean to make some money this next voyage, and come home, and set up as a steady fellow and good son.'
'And marry Madame Duvet? Do you know she is regularly in love with you? and they say she has a large fortune in France.'
'There it may remain for me. But I wish you wouldn't play cards Sundays.'
'They all do it in Paris, Owen, and what's the harm? Besides, it was only Saturday night; and we never do play Sundays, as you will see to-day. By-the-bye, what's gone with that Methodistical, lack-a-daisical Gladys? Is mother as mad about her as ever?'
'She saved your mother's life when there was no one else to nurse her, and is an angel, if ever there was one!'
Netta opened her large black eyes very wide, and burst out laughing.
'Ma foi! is that the last? Well, indeed! I never should have suspected her of making an impression. But she's deep enough for anything. How would father like that? Irish beggar against Abertewey! Come, Howel's better than that any day.
'Handsome is that handsome does,' said Owen, getting very red. 'And Gladys has done well ever since she's been at Glanyravon by every one belonging to us, not excepting yourself.'
'Very much obliged to her, I am sure,' said Netta, suddenly sitting up in bed, and forgetting her headache. 'She needn't trouble herself about me. I fancy we are never likely to cross one another again, unless she chances to come a-begging to Abertewey, and then perhaps—'
'And then perhaps you would give her a penny and send her on to starve. Oh! Netta, Netta, how were you ever my mother's daughter? But once for all, Netta, I will never hear one word spoken against Gladys. I at least am thankful that I still have a mother, and I owe it to her.'
'Dear me! you needn't be in such a huff directly, Owen. How was I to suppose you were in love with an Irish—I beg your pardon, with Miss Gladys O'Grady, County Kilkenny, Ireland? A very pretty name, to be sure! But if you don't go away I shall never be dressed by the time they come from church. There, go like a good boy. I 'ont offend you any more.'
'I will go as soon as you have told me what you and Howel did in Paris. I seem to know nothing of your proceedings for ages past.'
'It was dreadfully dull there at first, and I thought I should have died of it. I quite longed to be at home again. Howel was a great deal out, and I was alone; but then he gave me a singing master, and a French and dancing mistress, and made me work as hard as if I was at school again. In about a month Captain Dancy and Mr Simpson came over, and it was much more pleasant. We used to go to the opera and the play nearly every night, and Captain Dancy introduced me to Madame Duvet, and she introduced me to a great many other ladies, English and French, and we had a good deal of fun. I went to balls and parties, and picture galleries, and the Champs Elysées, and all the fashionable places.'
'But where did Howel meet with Mr Deep?' interrupted Owen.
'Oh! he used to be with him from the first. They are very old friends, Howel says, and have known one another for years; he is a very fashionable man, an attorney by profession. Simpson says that the races couldn't go on without him.'
'I should think not,' said Owen, smiling; 'at all events, Mr Simpson's races would be at a stand still without him. Did you, did Howel play much abroad?'
'Yes, I learned from Madame Duvet? and I think Howel and Mr Deep and the other gentlemen used to play all day. You know they have nothing else to do in Paris. It would be very dull there without cards.'
'Poor Netta! is that what you learned with your little bit of French?'
'I assure you, Owen, Monsieur Letellier and a dozen other Frenchmen said I had a beautiful accent, and that they would have thought I was born in Paris.'
Owen laughed heartily, and Netta was offended, and told him to go away. Just as he was in the act of obeying, Howel appeared.
'What! not up, Netta? How's the head? Owen, there's a letter for you. Llanfach post-mark, and from a lady? such a neat, pretty, ladylike hand! How sly you are to have lady correspondents, and not let us know who the charmer is!'
'Let me see the direction,' said Netta, trying to get the letter from her brother.
'No, no,' said Owen. 'I must keep my secret for the present when it is all settled you shall know.'
'It makes you blush, however,' laughed Howel.
'Is it Mary Jones, or Anne Jenkins, or Amelia Lewis, or Miss Richards, doctor, or Jemima Thomas—or—or—perhaps it is Gladys. Ha, ha! do you know, Howel, Owen's last is mother's Irish girl, Gladys?'
'Really?' sneered Howel. 'My mother tells me that she ran away from Glanyravon, and report says with somebody we know of. But report was false as usual; and she turns up again as Miss Gwynne's lady's maid. Miss Gwynne is about as eccentric as the rest of the clique, and I wish her joy of her bargain. The girl is a beauty, certainly, but—'
'Hush, Howel!' cried Netta; 'Owen was nearly boxing my ears about her just now.'
'Not exactly, Netta,' said Owen, smothering rising anger, and looking very red; 'but I won't hear a word said against her either by man or woman. I am going to read my letter now, and you are going to get up, so I won't stop here any longer,' and Owen left the room.
He went at once to his own bedroom, where he hastily broke open the letter Howel had given him, and read as follows:—
'GLANYRAVON PARK, May——.
'SIR,—- I hope you will excuse my boldness in writing to you; but having heard that you are at Abertewey, I take the liberty of doing so, to tell you that your leaving home has made us all very unhappy. Oh! Mr Owen, if you would only go back and see your dear mother and honoured father, and learn how lonely they are without you, I think you would give up the sea, or at least remain with them for some time. If you would write to the master, or say a few gentle words to him, he would overlook your going to see your sister, I am almost sure; and, indeed, it breaks my heart to know that I was the cause of your going away so suddenly, after you had been so long at home, and so good to your parents.
'Then, dear Mr Owen, you, who have been always so kind to me, a poor orphan wanderer, and beggar at your father's gate, do, I pray you, add this one favour more to the many you have done me, and return to your parents, to take leave of them at least before you go away. Hoping you will forgive my writing to you on this subject, believe me to remain, Mr Owen, your obedient and grateful servant, GLADYS O'GRADY.'
When Owen had read this letter twice, he devoutly kissed it, and exclaimed,—
'This favour, Gladys! ay, and a thousand more, if you will only write to me, and let one little "dear" slip in unawares every time you ask one. I suppose I had better write to father to-day, and follow my letter to-morrow.'
Owen sat down at once, and wrote the following brief epistle:—
'MY DEAR FATHER,—If I have offended you in any way, I am very sorry. I didn't mean to do so, and shall return to-morrow to ask pardon in person; but, remember, I am just as much in love with Gladys as ever, and don't mean to curry favour about her. With best love to mother, I am, your affectionate son, OWEN.'
That day at luncheon Owen announced his intention of leaving Abertewey the following morning.
'To see the fair lady who wrote that neat note?' said Howel.
'Probably so,' replied Owen.
'Where are you going? We shall miss you dreadfully,' said Madame Duvet, with an entreating glance.
'I fear we must all leave on Tuesday or Wednesday,' said Miss Simpson: 'at least if you still intend going to London with us, Madame Duvet. I have had a letter from home, positively refusing any further extension of leave, and my brother promises to return with me.'
'We may as well all go together, then,' said Captain Dancy, 'as I must be in town this week; and Deep goes up on Tuesday. When are you coming, Jenkins?'
'Only in time for Ascot. I cannot leave home until to-morrow week, and shall probably only remain the race week. Mrs Jenkins is not going up, and I shall not like to leave her long alone. Owen, you must come over and see her when I am away.'
'I think you had better stay at home, Howel. You will run less risk in taking care of Netta than you will at Ascot.'
'Thanks for your advice, but I know my own business best.'
'I beg your pardon, Howel, I meant no offence. But although I am going home, I don't know how long I may stay there. Perhaps shall be off to sea in a few days.'
'I will use your own words,' said Madame Duvet, 'and say better stay at home, and take care of—let me see—yourself, I suppose. You will run less risk than at sea.'
Owen laughed, and said he would not reply in Howel's words, as he was not sure that he knew his own business best. But he did not add that he should like to take care of Madame Duvet as she wished him to do.
Neither did that afternoon and evening at Abertewey improve Owen's opinion of its inmates. French novels and betting-books were their sermons, and he longed to take his poor little sister Netta away from the contamination of such society. But she came downstairs after luncheon was over, gay and bright in dress and person, and ready for any amount of frivolity. Her countenance clouded over, when she heard how soon the party was to be broken up; but when Howel assured her he should be only a week absent, and that he would take her to town in June, it cleared again.
Owen took his leave of Abertewey the following morning. Netta whispered 'Give my love to mother,' and had a very large tear in her black eye, as he walked away, the remembrance of which often haunted him in after days. Howel told him to come again whenever he liked, and accompanied him as far as the lodge on his homeward journey.
When he reached Glanyravon, he found his mother prepared to receive him with joyful love. His father came in soon after his return, and greeted him as he expected, with a very wrathful lecture, which he bore patiently, and to which he replied as follows:—
'Thank you, father; I am much obliged to you for all your abuse, but I don't think I deserve it. As I am of age, and a few years past that period, you must let me have a will of my own.'
'I think you have always had one,' roared the farmer.
'Yes, but not at home, father. I was obliged to run away to get it. But now I mean to stay at home if you will let me. Gladys is gone away, so I don't stay on her account.'
'I'm not seure of that. You never stayed on ours.'
'Well, I will now. But I can't promise to give up Netta. I've had enough of Abertewey, and don't mean to go there any more as far as I can see at present, and that's all I can say about that matter. As for Gladys, I suppose I must get her consent and yours to marry her, and when I've got them you won't object, I suppose?'
'I think you'd best go off to sea again. I don't want any agreements made here.'
'I am not going to make any agreements, but as I am your eldest son, and the only one able and willing to stay at home and help you and mother, I do not see why you should wish to send me off to sea again, now that I really would be of use to you. I know that I have not been what I ought to have been to you hitherto, and my desire is to make up for the past as well as I can. So, father, you had better take me whilst I am in the humour, and see what you can make of me. Hit the nail while it is hot, and don't discourage me at first starting, or I shall never get on. You know I'm very shy, and want some one to lend me a helping hand. If you're not too hard upon me you may make something useful of me yet.'
Owen put his hand on his father's shoulder, as he wound up his speech, in a coaxing, boyish way, that had always proved irresistible. The honest farmer pished and pshawed, and tried to get into a fresh passion, but meeting Owen's saucy eyes, fairly broke down.
'I tell you what it is, Owen, you're a regular scamp, and always were; but you know better than any of 'em to come over me, so—now, don't be a fool, mother! Just because the good-for-nothing young scoundrel promises to stay at home you must begin to cry. Name o' goodness hold your tongue, and don't be coaxing and kissing me, and all that nonsense. He 'out keep his promise a month, you shall see.'
'So she shall, father, and you and I will shake hands upon it, and I'll be a good boy, and never be naughty any more.'
Father and son shook hands, and mother and son embraced, and future chapters will show whether Owen kept his word.
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE MAN OF THE WORLD.
Two or three months passed, and no particular event happened either at the park or farm, and summer came round again. Gladys was now established at the former, and Owen at the latter, but although they had seen one another frequently at church or at a distance, they had scarcely spoken since they parted on the evening of their remarkable meeting in the cow-house. Gladys scrupulously avoided Owen, and all his endeavours to fall in with her were fruitless.
Colonel Vaughan was again at Glanyravon, and Freda was in buoyant spirits. So, indeed, were her neighbours, the Nugents,—Miss Nugent in particular. She was to be of age in a few days, and grand preparations were making to celebrate the event.
On the morning on which we take up our Glanyravon narrative Miss Nugent is inflicting herself upon Miss Gwynne, who longs to tell her to go away, but is too polite to do so.
'You know, Freda,' she says, 'I have been longing to be of age for yearth. Mamma ath been tho thrict, and kept me tho clothe, that I never dared to thpeak to a gentleman. Now I can do ath I like.'
'And what will you have to say?' asked Freda, bluntly. 'I never hear you venture upon many topics, when you have an opportunity.'
'Oh, Freda! there are tho many thingth.'
'Just tell me one or two.'
'Let me thee. Ballth and contherth, and the opera when I go to London, and—and—muthic—'
'Is that all?'
'You are tho tirethome, Freda; of courthe there are other thingth, but one cannot think of them all at onthe. Every one ithent tho clever ath you. Colonel Vaughan thaid I talked quite enough for any young lady. Gentlemen didn't like ladieth who talked too much.'
'Indeed! Where was your mamma when he said that?'
'Oh! the didn't hear him. Do you know I think the liketh Colonel Vaughan, and ith jealouth of me. He thaid he would come down when I came of age, and tho he did, you see, Freda.'
'To your mamma, or you?'
'To me quite alone. But you needn't look tho croth and fierthe, Freda. I couldn't help hith being polite to me, and paying me complimenth.'
'What compliments?'
'Oh! I can't tell you, he thaid so much about my lookth, that I am thure he made me bluth.'
'Did you believe him?'
'Yeth; and I think he liketh me better than mamma.'
'Do you think there is any one else in the world besides your mamma and yourself?'
'Well, yeth, of courth.'
'Then why don't you sometimes talk of some one else? Do you like Colonel Vaughan, for instance?'
'Oh! I never thaw any one in my life I like tho much, except Rowland Prothero. He ith younger. Mamma thaith—'
'There again, Wilhelmina!'
'I forgot—you are tho quick, Freda. Don't you like Colonel Vaughan?'
'Pretty well sometimes.'
'What a colour you have, Freda. You thouldn't draw tho much. I with I had a tathte for drawing. Colonel Vaughan drawth tho well!'
'What can his drawing well have to do with your drawing?'
'He would look over my drawing then ath he doth yourth, Freda. He thaith you are very clever. But you mutht be nearly five-and-twenty, Freda; and he thaith no woman ought ever to be more than twenty-one,'
'When did he favour you with that remark? I think I once heard him say twenty-five was the most charming age of all.'
At this part of the conversation the subject of it entered the room, and whilst Freda's colour rose higher and higher, and she stooped more closely over her drawing, Miss Nugent got up and greeted him with great delight. Freda made up her mind not to speak, that she might listen to the conversation that ensued.
'Are all the preparations progressing, Miss Nugent? What are we to do to celebrate the great event?' asked the colonel.
'There ith to be an oxth roathed for the poor people, and tea on the lawn, and a ball in the evening, you know, colonel.'
'Oh, yes, I am looking forwards to that, and to the first dance. Remember you promised me.'
'Oh, yeth, I am thure of plenty of partnerth.'
'I should imagine so. We men must have very bad taste if we let you sit down. Did you walk here this morning?'
'No, I rode. The hortheth are taken round. I have been here a long time with Freda. It ith thuch a nice morning, ithn't it, Colonel Vaughan?'
'Delightful! What do you mean to do when you are your own mistress? I quite fancy how grand you will feel when you have struck the magic hour.'
'I darethay I thall be jutht the thame, unleth I get married.'
Freda glances up, and perceives a smile of amusement on Colonel Vaughan's lips, and the usual calm inanity on Miss Nugent's handsome features.
'That will depend on yourself, I am sure,' said the colonel.
Freda looks again, and sees the colonel's magnificent eyes fixed on the young lady, who returns his glance, and simpers out,—
'I darethay it will.'
Colonel Vaughan turns suddenly, and encounters Freda's glance.
'How does the drawing get on Freda? Capitally! What a sky! quite artistic.'
This is said whilst looking over Freda's shoulder, but she does not respond to the remark.
'I wath jutht thaying I with I could draw. It mutht be thuth a nithe amuthement.'
'Very. How is Lady Mary, to-day? I am ashamed to say I forgot to ask for her.'
'Very well, thank you. The thaid you promithed to come over and help to arrange the decorationth. I hope you will.'
'Thank you, yes. Perhaps Miss Gwynne will ride over with me to-morrow; will you, Freda?'
'I am engaged to-morrow,' said Freda shortly.
'You will come at any rate, if Freda won't?' said Miss Nugent; 'the alwayth thayth the ith engaged when we athk her. Now, don't be engaged on Thurthday. I muth go now; will you be tho kind ath to ring for the hortheth, Colonel Vaughan?'
The horses were ordered, and the colonel assisted the young heiress to mount. She looked remarkably well on horseback, and even Freda was obliged to allow that she and her grey mare would have made a fine equestrian statue. She saw Colonel Vaughan look at her, and even watch her down the drive. When he returned to the drawing-room, he said,—
'What is the matter, Miss Freda? Have the domestic deities been adverse this morning? I am afraid you are very—cross,'
'Thank you, Colonel Vaughan. I am not at all—cross.'
'Have I had the misfortune to offend you?'
'You? by no means. But I do not wish to assist in any of the Nugent decorations. I am not so fond of the family as you may imagine; Lady Mary and Miss Nugent are less than indifferent to me. Lady Mary is a mere manoeuvrer, that no straightforward person could like; and Miss Nugent is a mere handsome wax figure, with such clever machinery inside, that she can literally say the words, "mamma thaith." I have heard of a doll who could say "mamma," but she is still cleverer.'
'Colonel Vaughan bit his lips, knit his forehead, but smiled. 'You are severe upon your neighbours, Freda.'
'Do you admire them, then? do you think Miss Nugent altogether charming? or will she be perfect in your eyes the day after to-morrow?'
'If perfection consists in being a beauty and an heiress, I need not go away from Glanyravon to seek one, Freda.'
'Do you stereotype your compliments? I hear that you pay them wherever you go, and I hate compliments, particularly from people whose good opinion I value. Besides, I am neither a beauty nor an heiress, and to be complimented in almost the same words as Miss Nugent is too contemptible.'
'You do not suppose that I class you together, Freda?'
'I am thankful to say that you cannot do that, Colonel Vaughan, at least if I know myself at all; but, after all, I may be infinitely her inferior.'
Freda got up from her drawing with a very flushed face. She knew that she had said more than she meant to say, and that Colonel Vaughan was scrutinising her with his calm, collected mind and penetrating eyes.
'I am going out now, and you promised to ride with papa, I think,' she said abruptly.
'But you must not go until you have told me how I have displeased you,' said Colonel Vaughan, rising and detaining her. He had such a power over her that he always wormed her thoughts out of her.
'I did not like to hear you saying what you did not mean, to Miss Nugent,' said Freda, as if she were obliged to make a confession; 'and I think it beneath a man like you to pay frivolous compliments to a girl you must despise.'
'Oh, is that all! I make a point of complimenting handsome girls, pour passer le temps; it is the only way of getting on with half of them. You must forgive me this once.'
Freda looked at him, and even he, clever as he was, could not tell whether her glance expressed pity, contempt, or love. She turned away, and left the room without speaking; he made another movement to detain her, but she was gone; his thoughts were as follows:—
'Charming girl! yes, she is charming: of a truthful, noble, trusting nature; still too prononcée for a woman. I scarcely think I love, much as I must admire that sort of girl; and as a wife, I should be afraid of her. Yet she provokes me, interests me. She is jealous of those Nugents, and if she doesn't take care, they will cut her out, mother and daughter, with their manoeuvres and wax; and she will be heiress of Glanyravon no longer. Better the waxen heiress, Miss Nugent, with thirty thousand pounds in possession in some thirty-six hours, than the iron heiress, Miss Gwynne, with Glanyravon in futuro.
'Moreover, the one may be moulded into any shape one pleases—the other must have her own opinion, and her own way, unless a man beat her into subjection. Certainly, few people were ever more fortunately, or perplexingly placed, than I am just now.
'Between two young women, handsome, rich, of good family; if I mistake not, in love with me, and to be had for the asking. But if I married Freda, Mr Gwynne would marry Lady Nugent directly; and then one could tell what would become of the property. If, on the other hand, I were to marry Miss Nugent, I should incur the utmost contempt of which Miss Gwynne is capable, and should not wholly esteem myself. But why am I thinking of marrying at all? Because I am forty years old, and found a grey hair in my whiskers yesterday; because I am tired of an unsettled life, and should like to clear off the old place, and end my days there; and because, after all, a married man has a better position than a single one. If that girl Gladys were in the place of either heiress, I would not hesitate a moment. I declare she would grace a coronet; no wonder all the young men round are in love with her. And yet, meet her when I will, I can scarcely get more than 'yes,' and 'no,' out of her.
'It is utterly impossible she can be what she seems, or is supposed to be. I never saw more thoroughly aristocratic beauty in our most aristocratic circles. Miss Nugent is as handsome as a woman can well be, in form and feature; but her eyes are like two frozen pools, whereas this Gladys, are literally two deep blue lakes with stars shining into them, or out of them, or something or other that a poet would describe better than I do. Well, what a fool I am! "A dream of fair women," in my fortieth year, just as I dreamt of them in my sixteenth. The Fates must decide for me, only I wish they would clear up the mystery that hangs over that girl, and give her Miss Nugent's thirty thousand pounds.'
Such were the thoughts that rushed through Colonel Vaughan's mind, as he sat, apparently looking at Freda's drawing in the place that she had vacated. We have unveiled a portion of his mind, because he is too good a tactician to unveil it himself. It is needless to say that this fascinating man, who has that nameless power which some men possess of making all women love him, has himself no heart to bestow on any one. Beyond the gratification of the moment, he is totally indifferent to all the consequences of his powers. He is not a bad man, he would not do anything that the world—his world, at least—would consider dishonourable; but as to reflecting upon the cruelty of inflicting wounds, never to be healed, upon the hearts of young ladies—why, he would as soon reflect upon the wounds he gave an enemy in the battle-field. He considers Cupid as fair game as Mars, and thinks that if women will be weak, and if he is irresistible, it is no fault of his, but rather their and his misfortune.
Young ladies! the vulgar saying that a woman should never give her heart to a man until she is asked for it, is, like many vulgar sayings, a good one. Colonel Vaughan is the type of a class amongst which all are liable to be thrown; and although men of his talent, knowledge of the world, and apparent sincerity are rare, you may each of you meet with one such. If you do, beware of falling in love with him until he plainly tells you that he is in love with you, and asks if you are willing to marry him.
Colonel Vaughan leaves the drawing-room in search of Mr Gwynne, humming a little Scotch air, the refrain of which is 'and troth I'll wed ye a,' a thing he has often wished he could actually do.
He finds Mr Gwynne in his library, and reminds him of the promised ride. The horses are ordered, and they are soon trotting down the drive. As if by mutual consent, they take the turn that leads to Pentre, Lady Mary Nugent's place. It is about a mile from Glanyravon, and beautifully situated on a hill that commands a fine prospect of dale, wood, and river.
The handsome mother and daughter are at home, and hail the arrivals with great glee. As Lady Mary is not at all certain that Colonel Vaughan's attentions are not exclusively meant for her, she divides her civilities with a charming tact between the two gentlemen, and looks so captivating whilst she does so, that the colonel wishes that her statue-like daughter had a little of her animation.
Everything that art and taste can devise is collected to adorn the ladies and their abode, and if nature is lacking within doors, she is profuse in her gifts without.
There is nothing worth recording in the conversation; if Colonel Vaughan had thought it over afterwards, he would probably have laughed at the platitudes he had uttered, and wondered why people paid morning visits. The coming of age was a grand topic, and the colonel promised to go again the following day, and 'help in the decorations.'
When the gentlemen took their leave, Mr Gwynne proposed a ride through his plantations, which he was improving and enlarging. They went accordingly. On their way they stopped at a small farm to inquire for one of Mr Gwynne's tenants, who was dangerously ill. Mr Gwynne dismounted, and as he entered the house, Gladys came out; she curtseyed as she passed Colonel Vaughan, who said,—
'How is the invalid, Gladys? I take it for granted you have been to see him.'
'Yes, sir, Miss Gwynne sent me with some jelly. He is better, I hope?'
'And are you going home now?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Stay one moment; will you give the poor man this half-crown when you see him again?'
Gladys approached, and took the half-crown, but with it there was half-a-sovereign.
'The rest is for yourself, to do what you like with,' added the colonel, in a low voice.
'Thank you, sir, but I never take money,' said Gladys, leaving the gold in his hand, 'I do not need it.'
'Give it to the poor, then,' said the colonel, letting it drop, and looking annoyed.
'Certainly, sir, if you wish it; I will tell Miss Gwynne, and she will know to whom to give it.'
'By no means—I mean it for you.'
'Sir, you will excuse me, I would rather not,' said Gladys, curtseying again, and hastening on.
Colonel Vaughan called to a boy who was near, and told him to pick up the money and give it to him.
'How often does that young lady come here?' he asked.
'Almost every day, sir,' was the reply.
'At what time?'
'In the afternoon, sir, from three to five, or thereabouts.'
'Goes back in time to help Miss Gwynne dress for dinner,' thought the colonel; 'what a lovely face it is! And what grace of movement.'
He watched Gladys cross the farm-yard, and disappear in the plantations, through which there was a private path to the house.
Mr Gwynne and he passed her again as they rode on, and she curtseyed once more, Mr Gwynne nodding to her kindly as she looked at him.
'Who is that girl, Mr Gwynne?'
'Oh! my daughter's maid, I believe. A very pretty, modest young woman, and all that sort of thing. Freda is very fond of her.'
They struck into another path, and Colonel Vaughan saw no more of Gladys that day, though he peeped into various stray corners of the house in the hope of doing so. Moreover, he found Freda captious and cross, and particularly annoyed at his and her father's visit to Pentre. He punished her by playing chess with her father nearly all the evening, and leaving her to a variety of reflections that were anything but satisfactory to her.