now that
he was thinking of what Colonel Vaughan had done years ago, and
comparing it with Mr Jones' embrace.

'Do you know, Netta, that I am thinking of getting married?' he said
suddenly, and thoroughly rousing Gladys.

'Don't be so foolish, Owen! You have been getting married or falling in
love ever since you were twelve,' said Netta. 'Who is it now?'

'Miss Richards,--Dr Richards' daughter. It is the talk of the county.
You know she has plenty of money.'

Owen cast a side glance towards Gladys and saw her turn quite pale,
which was very satisfactory to him.

'Is Miss Richards pretty, uncle?' asked Minette. 'Is she as pretty as
Gladys?'

'That depends upon taste.'

'But what do you think, uncle? She must be very pretty, if she is as
pretty as my dear Gladys! Isn't Gladys pretty, uncle?'

'Gladys knows what I think on that subject,' said Owen, 'but she doesn't
care what I think.'

This was said so that Netta, sitting opposite, did not hear.

'Oh, Mr Owen!' said Gladys, involuntarily.

'Oh, Mrs Snow!' said Owen.

'As the day went on, Netta got very weary, and, finally, slept. Minette,
also, in spite of Gladys' resolute efforts to keep her awake, fell fast
asleep, curled up in the corner, with her mother's feet in her lap. And
so Owen and Gladys were _tete-a-tete_.

The November day was drawing to a close, and it was dull and dark.
Gladys fancied Owen was asleep, and was thinking how very much more
cheerful she felt in the morning than she did at that moment; and all
because Owen said he was going to be married. She was trying to remember
the great blessings she had lately experienced, and that she ought to be
thinking of Netta instead of her brother.

At last, Owen started up, and said,--

'Gladys, do you like coming back to Glanyravon?'

'Dearly, sir, if you like to have me.'

'Now, Gladys, that is too absurd! You know I have wanted to have you all
these years.'

'I didn't mean that, Mr Owen.'

'Gladys, tell me why that old Jones kissed you.'

'I--I--don't know. Because--because he is fond of me, Mr Owen.'

'That is no reason, Miss Gladys. If it was, somebody else would kiss
you, too. Now I have an opportunity, I must ask you a few more
questions. I beg you to understand that old Jones, who is so fond of
you, put you under my especial care.'

'Oh, Mr Owen!'

'Oh, Mrs Snow! Now, tell me why you let that cunning man of the world,
Colonel Vaughan, give you ten shillings? This has been on my