st black, wanted nothing but the widow's cap to complete her attire as
chaperon. Howel lighted his cigar, and finished the brandy in the flask
whilst the women were dressing. They soon returned, Netta looking really
beautiful, in a new and fashionable white dress, elaborately trimmed
with ribbons and lace.

Howel went up to her and kissed her with infinite satisfaction.

'Won't we create a sensation at the Olympic,' he said. 'There will not
be such bright eyes and lilies and roses to be seen there as yours,
cousin Netta!'

'Mother don't approve of plays, Howel!'

'You must think of me, not mother now,' said Howel, ringing the bell and
ordering a cab, which as soon as it arrived received our trio, and was
driven to the Olympic, where they arrived in due time, and where we will
leave them for the present.

CHAPTER XV.

THE MILLIONAIRE'S WIFE.

'Don't you be taking on so, Netta, fach! if you do be crying this way,
your eyes 'll be as red as carrots, and Howel 'ont like it.'

'Oh! Aunt 'Lisbeth, I can't help thinking of mother, and how she is
vexing about me.'

'Look you at yourself in the glass, Netta, fach! and you 'ont be vexing
any more. I never was seeing such a glass as that before. Look you! you
can see yourself from the beauty-flowers in the white bonnet--dear!
there is a bonnet! and you was looking so well in it--down to them
lovely white shoes on your foots, I never was thinking before you had
such little foots.'

This conversation takes place whilst Mrs Jenkins is engaged in dressing
Netta for her wedding, and in endeavouring at the same time to soothe
various ebullitions of grief that burst out ever and anon, between the
different acts of the attiring. The girl cannot quite forget the friends
she left behind her, when she so suddenly ran away from home. The appeal
to her personal appearance is not, however, in vain. She looks in the
cheval-glass which draws forth Mrs Jenkins' admiration, and thinks she
has seldom seen anything so pretty as the reflection of her own person
in her bridal dress. She hastily dries her eyes, and turns round and
round several times to assure herself that all is right.

'Ah! Howel is knowing everything!' says Mrs Jenkins. 'Silks and laces,
and flowers, and worked-handkerchiefs, and all as white as a lily! And
your cheeks a deal redder than any I do see here along! My deet! but you
do be looking genteel.'

'Do I look as if I had been crying, aunt?' asks Netta,