er
irritated Mr Prothero by their evident inclination to take up the
defence of the offenders, Owen told his aunt that she had better write
to Lady Payne Perry about Netta, as there was always a chance of great
people hearing the news. Owen was very well aware that his aunt could
not possibly write to her aristocratic cousin with the pens, ink, and
paper in general use at the farm, and that she would be obliged to go
to her davenport at the vicarage, where he already saw her, in
imagination, with the finest satin letter paper before her, mending her
pen into the most delicate of points.

Accordingly they took their leave, with a promise to return on Monday,
and were soon succeeded by Miss Gwynne, who, having heard of the
elopement, came to see Mrs Prothero.

'If you could prevail on the mistress to go to bed, ma'am,' said Gladys
when she opened the door to her, 'I would be for ever thankful to you;
she is much too ill to be about, and she has done nothing but mope and
fret all day.'

Miss Gwynne went straight into the dairy, where Mrs Prothero was making
butter.

'So Netta has taken the law into her own hands, Mrs Prothero. So much
the better; I shouldn't grieve about it if I were you. It is a grand
thing for her.'

'Not to disobey us and run away, Miss Gwynne? she would be better doing
her father's bidding than marrying a lord, much less Howel.'

'But you are not going to make yourself ill and miserable about it.
Since it is done, you may as well make the best of it; but you must go
to bed and keep quiet, to-day at least. You are not fit to see all the
people who are already on their way to condole or congratulate. You will
have half the parish here before night; I passed old Nancy, Cwmriddle,
hobbling down the lane, and she will be here shortly.'

'Oh, I couldn't see them, Miss Gwynne.'

'Then you must go to bed to avoid it. Do be advised, you look so ill.'

'When Miss Gwynne so far forgot herself as to be persuasive instead of
commanding, she was irresistible. She put her hand so gently on Mrs
Prothero's shoulder, and looked so kindly into her tearful eyes, that
the poor woman began to cry afresh. The sound of a stick knocking at the
back door completed the victory, and Mrs Prothero went sobbing upstairs,
whilst Gladys opened the door to admit Nancy, Cwmriddle, and another
gossip who had overtaken her. Mr Prothero came into the yard at the same
time.

'Well, sir, to be sure; only to think of Miss Netta,'