Gladys, the Reaper Part 53

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.'

'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, a.s.sembled 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 wors.h.i.+pped 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 amus.e.m.e.nt. 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 fis.h.i.+ng, 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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.