Part 28 (1/2)

CHAPTER XV.

THE MILLIONAIRE'S WIFE.

'Don't you be taking on so, Netta, fach! if you do be crying this way, your eyes 'll be as red as carrots, and Howel 'ont like it.'

'Oh! Aunt 'Lisbeth, I can't help thinking of mother, and how she is vexing about me.'

'Look you at yourself in the gla.s.s, Netta, fach! and you 'ont be vexing any more. I never was seeing such a gla.s.s as that before. Look you! you can see yourself from the beauty-flowers in the white bonnet--dear!

there is a bonnet! and you was looking so well in it--down to them lovely white shoes on your foots, I never was thinking before you had such little foots.'

This conversation takes place whilst Mrs Jenkins is engaged in dressing Netta for her wedding, and in endeavouring at the same time to soothe various ebullitions of grief that burst out ever and anon, between the different acts of the attiring. The girl cannot quite forget the friends she left behind her, when she so suddenly ran away from home. The appeal to her personal appearance is not, however, in vain. She looks in the cheval-gla.s.s which draws forth Mrs Jenkins' admiration, and thinks she has seldom seen anything so pretty as the reflection of her own person in her bridal dress. She hastily dries her eyes, and turns round and round several times to a.s.sure herself that all is right.

'Ah! Howel is knowing everything!' says Mrs Jenkins. 'Silks and laces, and flowers, and worked-handkerchiefs, and all as white as a lily! And your cheeks a deal redder than any I do see here along! My deet! but you do be looking genteel.'

'Do I look as if I had been crying, aunt?' asks Netta, wetting her eyes with lavender water. 'I'm afraid of Howel and those grand people. I wish he hadn't asked them.'

'Oh, for sham! Netta. There they are, I shouldn't wonder! Yes indeet!

says Mrs Jenkins, 'I hear them talking on the stairs.'

A knock at the bedroom door is followed by the entrance of two ladies, apparently mother and daughter; the former a portly and roseate dame, clad in the richest of brocades and white lace shawls--the latter a thin and somewhat yellow damsel, a tired in white and pink bonnet and mantle to match, evidently in bridesmaid's gear.

'Ah I how charming! how beautiful! what a country-flower in London leaves!' exclaim the ladies, rus.h.i.+ng up to Netta and kissing her. 'Good morning, Mrs Jenkins, your son has chosen a bewitching young person indeed!'

'Treue for your ladys.h.i.+p,' says Mrs Jenkins, making her very best curtsey, as the ladies alternately shake hands with her.

'Your ladys.h.i.+p' is no less a person than Lady Simpson, the wife of Sir John Simpson, a gentleman who acquired that t.i.tle on an occasion when William the Fourth, of blessed memory, was feted in the city. Sir John, having made a considerable fortune in trade, and being blessed with a helpmate of an aspiring mind, has removed from his old neighbourhood to that of Hyde Park, where he is spending the money he earned on the general advancement of his family. This family consists of a son and daughter, who have been highly educated according to the general acceptation of the term. With the son Howel is very intimate, and through him he has long been known to the rest of the family; but it is only since his vast accession of wealth that he has had the distinguished honour of claiming Sir John and Lady Simpson as his particular friends. To them he confided his intended marriage with a beautiful cousin, who, for family reasons, was coming to London, he said, under his mother's protection, to be united to him. They had called on Mrs Jenkins and Netta the previous day, and were invited to the wedding in the various capacities of father, bridesman, and bridesmaid. Previously to their making his mother's acquaintance, Howel informed them that being Welsh, she naturally spoke the language of her country, and was so patriotic that she disliked any other; and said that they must not be surprised at her peculiar English, which was simply a translation of the Welsh idioms into what, to her, was a foreign tongue.

He also gave his mother an hour's lecture upon her dress and deportment; and Netta a few hints as to her general behaviour, which, whilst it enchanted the elder, frightened the younger lady. Thus 'forewarned,' if not 'fore-armed' the forces of Simpson and Jenkins were thrown together.

Lady Simpson is an average specimen of a vulgar woman aping gentility; her daughter of a would-be fine lady.

After they have sufficiently admired Netta's dress, and put the finis.h.i.+ng touches to it, Miss Simpson informs Netta of her duty as bride elect.

'Of course, my dear, papa will take you to the hymeneal altar, and our friend Captain Dancy will take me.'

'Oh! I hope there is no other stranger,' gasps Netta.

'Only a particular friend of my brother's and of Mr Jenkins'. Do not be alarmed, you shy little dove.'

'Netta, fach!' whispers Mrs Jenkins, 'the ladies was knowing what is right'

'Then my brother must take up Mrs Jenkins, and Mr Jenkins, mamma. I declare we shall be a charming party; and remember to take off your glove, dear, and give it to me.'

'We had better go downstairs now,' said Lady Simpson. 'Bridegrooms are very impatient at these times.'

Lady Simpson took the blus.h.i.+ng, frightened Netta by the hand, and led her into the drawing-room. Truly the poor child did look like a lovely country rose, as Miss Simpson had not inaptly called her. Howel led her, proud of her beauty, to the portly Sir John, who patted her kindly on the cheeks, and reminded Netta so strongly of her father that the tears sprung into her eyes. Howel's frown soon checked them, and a thundering knock at the door, followed by the entrance of Mr Simpson, junior, and his friend, Captain Dancy, turned her attention from the father to the son. The look of decided admiration that the new comers cast upon her, quite revived her drooping spirits, and she smiled, curtseyed, and blushed as becomingly and naively as Howel could have wished.

Mr Horatio Simpson was a young man very much adorned with chains, rings, studs, and black curls. He had, moreover, a very fine waistcoat, and was altogether well fitted by his tailor. His face was not unlike that of an otter. He used grand words when he spoke, but did not tire his companions by quite as voluble a tongue as did his mother. He was one of those fine gentlemen who would, or could neither plod nor dash at his studies, and who was quite willing to take all his knowledge second hand from any one who would kindly impart it.

Captain Dancy was so entirely his devoted friend, that he gladly gave him the advantage of his superior parts, in return for various favours which Miss Simpson also aided in conferring.