’Thank you, Gwynne; she has been very good and kind to us all; so much improved, and she told me she owed it all to Rowland.  Well, I liked him from the first.  You saw the Bible his school children gave him, and the presents from his parishioners and the letter from the bishop, so complimentary, you know, so flattering, and all that sort of thing.  God bless them,’

Mr Gwynne very nearly begins to cry, and Colonel Vaughan feels inclined to join; but by way of consoling himself, says,—­

’I shall go and see the Protheros sometimes now.  I never saw anything in my life so lovely as that younger Mrs Prothero.’

‘Take care, my dear,’ cries Lady Mary to her daughter; ’the colonel is going to visit the fair Gladys.’

‘Oh!  I thant allow that, Gwynne, the ith much too pretty.’

‘Let us go out and look at the people before dinner,’ says Colonel Vaughan; ’I must say it was cruel of Freda to refuse to have a party.  This is fearfully dull; the vicar and his wife, or Mr and Mrs Jones would have been better than nobody.’

‘Much obliged!’ says Sir Hugh.

As all the party go into the Park, we will follow them, and leaving them there, retrace our steps to the farm.

There is high tea going on in the parlour, and a pleasant, cheerful party they are, assembled round the tea-table.  Gladys in the wedding-gown, with a colour on her cheeks and a light in her eyes that were not there in former days, presides.  Owen divides his attentions between her and some object in the corner of the room; first jumping up to peep into this curtained curiosity, and then returning to put cream into the tea-cups, hand the cakes and bread and butter, or do any and everything that his loving and lovely Gladys asks him, with whom he is just as much in love as ever.

Mr Jones and Mr Prothero sit on either side of Gladys, and seem to vie with one another in showing a father’s and uncle’s affection to her.  Next to Mr Jones we have Mrs Prothero, looking more like what she looked when first we saw her, than she has done for years.  Then Mr Jonathan and Mrs Jones; and between Mrs Jones and Owen we are glad to see poor Mrs Jenkins, very kindly treated by her neighbours, and dressed in the moire and a handsome shawl; then Mrs Jonathan, in the richest of silks, and the loveliest of caps; and, finally, Minette between her and her grandfather; completing a ‘round table’ more cheerful and natural than that of King Arthur.

Through the open window and white netted curtains—­Gladys’ treasured work—­the roses and sunbeams look in together, and the distant mountains are blue and hazy as the sky.  Flowers are on the mantel-piece and tables, bridal-favours are scattered here and there.  Above all, there is a large white and silver bow, surmounting that ‘curiosity’ in the corner, towards which all eyes occasionally turn.  Perhaps we may as well peep within the little white curtains.