cause you would not let her, father. Think of her making him believe
this, and yet loving him dearly all the time; and because she was too
grateful to you and mother to do what you don't like.'

'Yes; the girl's a good girl, Netta, I don't deny that; but I can't bear
the Irish, and don't want Owen, who is a fine, sensible young man, who
might have any respectable young 'ooman, to marry a girl nobody knows
of, and there's the treuth! If you let him alone, he'd marry Miss
Richards.'

'Never, father! Only ask him; for my sake--though I don't deserve you
should do anything for me.'

'There--there; don't you begin to cry, and excite yourself. I'll ask the
boy.'

'Now, father! He's in the hall; I heard him whistling. Let him come
here.'

Mr Prothero went out and called Owen, who came in forthwith He began the
subject at once.

'Owen, Netta has got into her head that you and Gladys are making fools
of one another still, in spite of all I said. Is that treue?'

'Not exactly, father. You know I have been in love with Gladys nearly
ever since I knew her, and made up my mind never to have anybody else. I
don't call that making a fool of her; perhaps it was of myself. She has
refused me, without rhyme or reason, more than once; and it was only
when we came home with Netta that I found out the cause of her refusal.
It is just because she won't marry me without your consent. I have been
waiting for her permission to speak to you about this ever since I came
home; but she wouldn't let me, because Netta was ill. I must confess to
you, honestly, that I would have married her any day these seven years,
and worked for her, by sea of land, if she would have had me. But she
wouldn't, so there's an end of that I find, now, that your consent is
wanting alone, and I ask it boldly. If you let us marry, you make us
happy; if you refuse, you make us miserable, and send me to sea
again--for I don't see that you can expect me to work at home, if you
don't try to contribute to my happiness. I am not angry, father, though
I can't see what right you had to extract a promise from a girl to whom
you had done a service. That was not generous, or like Prothero,
Glanyravon.'

'Treue for you there, boy.'

Mr Prothero began to rub his ear; a trick he had when in doubt. Netta,
seeing this, put her arms round his neck, and whispered,--

'Oh, father! make us happy. He is a good son, father, bach.'

'Then go you and tell the girl, you may have her,