oman,' said Mrs Jenkins, rising
majestically and smoothing down a very handsome silk dress, which she
had carefully taken up before she sat down.

Owen's wrath was turned to amusement

'Did you think we hadn't a duster in the house, aunt? I can tell you
you've pretty well dirtied that white petticoat.'

Gladys led the way to Mrs Prothero's room, and Mrs Jenkins and Owen
followed.

'I'm sorry to see you so poorly, cousin,' said Mrs Jenkins, approaching
the bed on which Mrs Prothero lay, looking flushed and excited.

'What did you expect, 'Lizabeth Jenkins? when you have carried off my
daughter--my child--my Netta! And caused misery in our house never to be
mended.'

'Well, seure! One 'ould think we'd murdered Netta, 'stead of making her
as grand as a queen, with a lord and a lady to be giving her away, and a
captain to be at the wedding, and a gentleman in a waistcoat and chains
and rings that do be worth a hundred pounds at least, and a young lady
for bridesmaid in a shoall of lace, handsomer than your Miss Gwynne of
the Park, and a wedding-cake covered with sugar, and silver, and little
angels, and all sorts of things which I was bringing with me for you;
and a clergy like a bishop to marry her, and a coach and horses to be
taking her back and fore, and she looking as beauty and happy as ever I
was seeing! And my Howel's as rich and fine as anybody in London, Prince
Albert nothing to him, and might be marrying Miss Simpson, my ladyship's
doter, if he wasn't so fullish as to be marrying your Netta!'

'Now, aunt, it is our turn, if you please,' said Owen, as soon as Mrs
Jenkins gave him time to speak. 'Will you tell my mother Netta's
message?'

'I am taking it very unkind that you should all turn upon me. David
Prothero I 'spected 'ould be in a passion, but, stim odds! Netta said,
cousin, that I wos to tell you she was sorry to be leaving you in a
hurry, but that she had everything she could be wishing, gowns, and
white shoes, and lace veils--seure you never wos seeing such a
beauty--and a _stafell_--_trosy_ they do call it in London--good enough
for my Lady Nugent, and a goold watch and chains, and rings and
bracelets, ach un wry! there's grand!'

'But what did Netta say to me, cousin 'Lizbeth? I don't care if she was
all gold from head to foot. I would rather have her here in rags,' said
Mrs Prothero, bursting afresh into tears.

'She's more likely to be here in satins and velvets, cousin,' said Mrs
Jenkin