Part 53 (1/2)

Owen did not stay to consider, but walked past the handsome lodge, and up the drive, according to Howel's direction.

'Mighty condescending and very patronising, cousin Howel!' he soliloquised; 'but I will go and see how Netta gets on, and how your highness treats her.'

He reached the house, and rang stoutly at the bell. A servant answered it, who was adjusting his coat just put on, he not having expected such early visitors.

'The back entrance is round the corner there, young man,' were his words on perceiving Owen, whose pride was greatly roused thereby.

'Tell Mrs Howel Jenkins that her brother, Mr Owen Prothero, is here,'

said Owen, intending to electrify the man.

But he did not succeed. The servants knew very well that their mistress's family was not of 'county rank,' and that its members were not upon terms with the Aberteweys, therefore had no very high opinion of them. He turned on his heel, and told a female servant to tell Lucette, the French maid, to tell her mistress that Mr Owen Prothero was at the door.

In a few minutes the man reappeared, and, with a great increase of civility, asked Mr Prothero to walk into the breakfast-room, and said his mistress would be down as soon as possible. Whilst he was admiring the room and its costly furniture, and considering the tea service, a smart little French-woman came to him and asked him in French, whether he would stay to breakfast; as he knew something of the language he replied in the affirmative. Then appeared an equally smart and fascinating French valet, who begged to be allowed the honour of conducting Monsieur to a bedroom, to arrange his toilet.

Owen laughed heartily and followed the man, who took up his knapsack daintily, and led him to a very handsome bedroom, where Owen brushed his hair as becomingly as he could, arranged his beard, and made himself as smart as his wardrobe would allow of his doing. He was, as we have before said, a very handsome young man, and sufficiently well mannered to pa.s.s muster anywhere.

'What is the next act, I wonder?' said he, as he found his way into the breakfast-room. He was quite taken aback as he entered, when he saw a pale young lady sitting in one of the windows, reading. He made his bow, she curtseyed, and said,--

'Mrs Howel Jenkins' brother, I believe? My name is Simpson.'

Owen bowed again, and not being of a shy turn, and having seen ladies of various degrees during his travels, began to make himself agreeable.

In a few minutes, a little French fairy flitted into the room, with her hair off her face to display such eyes and complexion as are rare in all times; and muslins, laces, and ribbons so blended, as to set off a pet.i.te figure to the very best advantage. Owen was going to bow again, when a little affected laugh, and a 'Ma foi! he doesn't know me, Miss Simpson,' proclaimed the fairy to be his sister Netta.

'Owen, you naughty boy, not to know me,' the little thing continued, more naturally, running up to her brother, who took her, despite muslins, laces, and ribbons, almost up in his big arms, and kissed her.

'How you have rumpled me, Owen? did you ever see such a thing, Miss Simpson?' she cried, half laughing, half in tears, as she smoothed down the point-lace sleeves and collar.

Just then a tall man entered, and Netta disengaging herself from Owen, who was on the point of kissing her again, and asking her what she had done to herself, simpered out an introduction between 'Captain Dancy and my brother, Captain Prothero.'

'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 fas.h.i.+onable 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 _crever 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, languis.h.i.+ng, 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 fas.h.i.+ons, 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 a.s.suredly she was very pretty.

'Owen,' she said, during a sudden pause in rather a noisy conversation, 'I hear Rowland is quite a fas.h.i.+onable 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 fas.h.i.+onable 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 _naf_! 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.'