’I assure you it would be quite right, and I don’t fear infection and papa would let me do just as I like.  In short, I mean to stay, and you must go directly.  Is young Jenkins at home, Mr Rowland?’

‘Yes, he returned a few hours before his father’s death.’

’I suppose that horrid old man died as rich as Croesus, and, according to custom in such cases, his son will spend the money.’

‘I wish he had not got it,’ said Mrs Prothero.

’That is scarcely a fair wish, mother.  Let us hope that he will do well with it.’

’Never, never.  He was not born or bred in a way to make him turn out well.’

‘Nothing is impossible, mother.’

’You must take care of Netta, Mrs Prothero.  But now do go to that wretched Mrs Jenkins, and leave the poor girl to me, and Mr and Mrs Jonathan to Mr Rowland.  I hope you have been studying the antiquities of Wales at Oxford, Mr Rowland?’

This was said as Mrs Prothero left the room; and Rowland was startled from a rather earnest gaze on Miss Gwynne’s very handsome and animated face, by this sudden appeal to him, and by meeting that young lady’s eyes as they turned towards him.  A slight blush from the lady and a very deep one from the gentleman were the result.  The lady was indignant with herself for allowing such a symptom of female weakness to appear, and said somewhat peremptorily,—­

’Will you be so good as to tell Jones to take the horses home, and to let my father know that he must not wait luncheon, or even dinner for me?’

‘Excuse me, Miss Gwynne,’ said the young man, recovering his composure, ’but I do not think my mother would be justified in allowing you to attend upon that poor girl.’

’Allowing me!  Really I do not mean to ask her.  I choose to do it, thank you, and I will speak to the servant myself.’

It was now Miss Gwynne’s turn to grow very red, as, with haughty port, she swept past Rowland, leaving him muttering to himself.

’What a pity that one so noble should be so determined and absolute.  Let her go, however.  Nobody shall say that I lent a hand to her remaining here.  In the first place she runs the risk of infection, in the second every one else thinks she degrades herself by coming here as she does.  Still, her desire to take care of the girl is a fine, natural trait of character.  I must just go and look over the Guardian.  A curacy in England I am resolved to get, away from all temptation.  Yet I hate answering advertisements, or advertising.  If my aunt’s friends would only interest themselves in procuring me a London curacy, I think I should like to work there.  That would be labouring in the vineyard, with a positive certainty of reaping some of the fruits.’

The soliloquy was interrupted by the reappearance of Mrs Prothero, dressed for her walk.

‘Mother, you ought not to let Miss Gwynne stay.’

‘I! my dear Rowland!  Do you think she would mind what I say to her?’