’I—­I—­really, it is scarcely fair to appeal to me, as he is a relation.’

‘And do you never say a good word in favour of your relations?’

‘I hope so, when they deserve it,’ said Rowland resolutely, glancing at his sister, who was biting her glove.

‘If I may be allowed an opinion,’ said Mrs Jonathan decidedly, also glancing at poor Netta, ’I should say that Howel Jenkins was a complete scapegrace.  What he may yet turn out remains to be proved.’

‘Well, that is putting an end to him at once,’ said Miss Gwynne, ’and I think we had better play his funeral dirge.  Lady Mary, will you give us ‘The Dead March in Saul,’ or something appropriate?  Never mind, Netta; I daresay cousin Howel will turn out a great man by-and-by;’ this last clause was whispered to Netta, whilst the young hostess went towards a grand piano that stood invitingly open, and begged Lady Mary Nugent to give them some music.

That lady played some brilliant waltzes, after which, her daughter accompanied her in the small bass of a duet.

‘Pon my soul, that’s a pretty girl, that little Prothero!’ said Sir Hugh Pryse to young Rice Rice.  ’I never saw such a complexion in my life.  Roses and carnations are nothing to it.’

‘Rather a vulgar style of beauty, I think,’ said Mr Rice Rice, junior, taking up an eyeglass, and finding some difficulty in fixing it in his eye.  He had lately discovered that he was nearsighted, to the great grief of his mother, who, however, sometimes spoke of the sad fact in the same tone that she used to speak of the Rice Rice, and Morgan of Glanwilliam families.  She herself belonged to the latter.

‘I vow she’s lovely!’ cried the baronet, so emphatically that every one in the room might have heard him.  Most of the ladies, doubtless, did, and appropriated the sentiment, but, by-and-by, Netta was triumphant, as he went and sat by her, and complimented her in very audible terms.

She blushed and coquetted very respectably for a country damsel, and wondered whether a poor baronet, or a wealthy miser’s son would best help her to humble the pride and condescension of the Nugents and the Rice Rices.

Whilst Lady Mary Nugent was playing, Mr Gwynne very nearly went to sleep, and Rowland Prothero, who liked nothing but chants, and a solemn kind of music that he chose to think befitting a clergyman, was, in his turn, looking over the drawing-room scrap book.  Miss Gwynne gave her papa a sly push, and whispered, that she believed Mr Rowland Prothero played chess.

Mr Gwynne aroused himself, and challenged his young neighbour.  Miss Gwyne, assisted by all the gentlemen, brought the chess-table, and the game soon began.

There is no doubt that there is nothing in the world more selfish, more absorbing, more disagreeable to every one excepting the players, than chess.  Mr Gwynne began his game half asleep; Rowland began his in a very bad temper.  The former was glad of anything that could keep him awake, the latter was disgusted at having been made the victim of Miss Gwynne’s anxiety to preserve her father from falling fast asleep in the midst of his guests.  But, by degrees, the one was thoroughly aroused, and the other forgot his annoyance.  Both soon ignored the presence of any human being save himself and his opponent.