and through him he has long been known to the rest of the family; but it is only since his vast accession of wealth that he has had the distinguished honour of claiming Sir John and Lady Simpson as his particular friends.  To them he confided his intended marriage with a beautiful cousin, who, for family reasons, was coming to London, he said, under his mother’s protection, to be united to him.  They had called on Mrs Jenkins and Netta the previous day, and were invited to the wedding in the various capacities of father, bridesman, and bridesmaid.  Previously to their making his mother’s acquaintance, Howel informed them that being Welsh, she naturally spoke the language of her country, and was so patriotic that she disliked any other; and said that they must not be surprised at her peculiar English, which was simply a translation of the Welsh idioms into what, to her, was a foreign tongue.  He also gave his mother an hour’s lecture upon her dress and deportment; and Netta a few hints as to her general behaviour, which, whilst it enchanted the elder, frightened the younger lady.  Thus ‘forewarned,’ if not ‘fore-armed’ the forces of Simpson and Jenkins were thrown together.

Lady Simpson is an average specimen of a vulgar woman aping gentility; her daughter of a would-be fine lady.

After they have sufficiently admired Netta’s dress, and put the finishing touches to it, Miss Simpson informs Netta of her duty as bride elect.

’Of course, my dear, papa will take you to the hymeneal altar, and our friend Captain Dancy will take me.’

‘Oh!  I hope there is no other stranger,’ gasps Netta.

‘Only a particular friend of my brother’s and of Mr Jenkins’.  Do not be alarmed, you shy little dove.’

‘Netta, fach!’ whispers Mrs Jenkins, ’the ladies was knowing what is right’

’Then my brother must take up Mrs Jenkins, and Mr Jenkins, mamma.  I declare we shall be a charming party; and remember to take off your glove, dear, and give it to me.’

‘We had better go downstairs now,’ said Lady Simpson.  ’Bridegrooms are very impatient at these times.’

Lady Simpson took the blushing, frightened Netta by the hand, and led her into the drawing-room.  Truly the poor child did look like a lovely country rose, as Miss Simpson had not inaptly called her.  Howel led her, proud of her beauty, to the portly Sir John, who patted her kindly on the cheeks, and reminded Netta so strongly of her father that the tears sprung into her eyes.  Howel’s frown soon checked them, and a thundering knock at the door, followed by the entrance of Mr Simpson, junior, and his friend, Captain Dancy, turned her attention from the father to the son.  The look of decided admiration that the new comers cast upon her, quite revived her drooping spirits, and she smiled, curtseyed, and blushed as becomingly and naively as Howel could have wished.