Mr Prothero put on a smart coat, brushed his hair, and came into the parlour, as became one about to meet a grand lady.

’How d’ye do, cousin ’Lizabeth?  Glad to see you looking so well; welcome to Glanyravon.’

They shook hands, and as Mrs Jenkins made rather a grand attempt at a curtsey, Owen looked at Netta, and showed his white teeth; but Netta was as grave as a judge.

Mr Prothero was as much struck with the improvement in the widow’s appearance as his son.

’Why, I declare, cousin ’Lizabeth, you look ten years younger than you did when I saw you last.  Do you mind when we two used to go nutting together?  If ’twasn’t for my good ‘ooman there—­’

‘I was just saying so, father,’ interrupted Owen; ’don’t you think Davies, Pennycoed—­’

‘I am not having no intentions of marrying again,’ simpered the widow; ‘wanst is enough.  My poor Griffey.’

’Quite right, cousin ’Lizabeth, wan Griffey is enough, in all conscience.’

The best tea things were duly arranged; cakes hot from the oven buttered; the best green tea put into the best teapot, and all proper honour done to Mrs Jenkins, from which she augured well for her Howels.

As Shanno was very busy and very dirty, Mrs Prothero, during her preparations in the kitchen, was at a loss to know who was to wait if anything was wanted.  Gladys chanced to be there, and said modestly,—­

’If I could do, ma’am, I would soon make myself neat in Miss Prothero’s gown; and if I might just take in the tray instead of you.’

‘Thank you, Gladys, I am sure you will do,’ and Gladys was installed.

‘There is nothing that girl cannot do,’ thought Mrs Prothero, as she arranged everything on the tea-table as neatly and properly as Mrs Prothero could have done herself.

‘What a tidy girl you have!’ said Mrs Jenkins.  ’Do she mean to be staying over Hollantide?  I am wanting a servant.’

All eyes were turned on Gladys as she came into the room again, but as hers were always fixed on what she was carrying, or on her mistress, she was not aware of the sudden attention she excited.

‘Irish beggars!’ muttered Netta.

‘One of mother’s godsends,’ said Mr Prothero.

‘What a beautiful piece of snow,’ thought Owen.

After tea Mr Prothero invited Mrs Jenkins to go and see his fine fat cattle.  The pair went together, leaving an anxious trio behind them.

Farmer Prothero was a man of few words when his mind was made up, and was not long in beginning the subject each had at heart.

’I’m sorry, cousin ’Lizabeth, that I can’t let Netta marry just now.  She’s too young, and Howel isn’t the lad to study her.’

’Oh! but you can’t be knowing, David Prothero, how study he is since his poor father’s death.’

’Then let him wait two years, and if he is downright well-conducted, then he may have Netta.’