‘Ha, ha, ha!’ shouts Mr Prothero, ‘he has you now, brother Jo.’

’Not at all.  Owen seems to have forgotten that w and y are vowels.  But he never had a taste for study, Rowland is quite different; and our dear niece, Claudia, is much better suited to him than to Owen, for she appreciates the wisdom of a past age.’

‘The little hypocrite,’ cries Owen.  ‘She doesn’t—­’

‘I never could have supposed Lady Mary could be so affable,’ interrupts Gladys, fearing a dispute.

‘She can be anything she likes,’ says Mrs Jones.  ’She pressed me and Mr Jones to stay there to-day, but I could not have done so without Freda.  She was especially kind all last week, and resolved to go through everything properly.  I told her that your uncle could only stay two clear days, and that we had promised to spend them here.  It is such a relief to be here, Mr Gwynne and Mrs Gwynne Vaughan are very well; but her ladyship’s constant tact and effort to do exactly the right thing are wearying.’

’Do my Laddy Marry be very grand?  Grander than Laddy Simpson, Mrs Jones?’ asked Mrs Jenkins, in an undertone, of her neighbour.  She has an infinite awe of Mrs Jonathan.

‘I don’t think I ever saw Lady Simpson,’ says Mrs Jones,

’Not be seeing Laddy Simpson!  Well, it is no loss for you.  She was as ugly an ’ooman as I ever was seeing.  I am hating the Simpsons, and no wonder.  But Miss Gwynne is a lady,—­Mrs Rowland Prothero, I am meaning.  She was coming to see me the other day, and says she, “I know you have been unfortunate Mrs Jenkins, fach! and no fault of yours.”  And she was giving me this new white shoal.  And, seure, if it wasn’t for Rowland Prothero and she, I ’oudn’t be in that tidy cottage by there, with Mrs Owen and my grandoater coming to see me and reading to me; and Mrs Prothero too, is seure, and bringing me something nice, and my Griffey with hundreds of thousands, Mrs Jones, as you was knowing,’

Mrs Jenkins gradually gets excited, as she finds Mrs Jones listens, and by degrees she gains the ear of the rest of the party, who all, in spite of Gladys’ efforts to divert their attention, turn to her when they hear the words ‘Rowland and Miss Gwynne.’

‘I must be telling you now, Mrs Jones, ma’am,’ continues Mrs Jenkins, ’that I am not forgetting all your kindness to me up in London, when every one else was turning away.  Ach a fi! and they ’joying themselves at Abertewey.’

Mrs Jones presses Mrs Griffey’s arm, and whispers ‘hush!’

’To be seure!  I was forgetting.  But, indeet, Rowland Prothero did be more than a son to me, and if Miss Gwynne was my own doater she couldn’t be kinder.  She was buying up enough of my beauty furniture to fill the little cottage.  I did be finding it out ’esterday, and seure it was their wedding present to a poor, childless widow, as ’ould be in the Eunion, and I with hundreds and thousands!’

‘Hold your tongue, name o’ goodness, ‘Lizbeth Jenkins!’ growls Mr Prothero.