drch, and that we owe it to this illustrious
source.'

'Now, aunt,' exclaims Owen, 'never mention the Payne Perrys again. Why,
you cannot light a candle to us. I am sure your Herefordshire Perry
can't date back to the conquest, and here are we long before it. What
date, uncle?'

'720, Owen. And I wish you, as the eldest son, would begin to write your
name in the proper way. I contemn, absolutely, this altering our fine
old language into that jargon of Anglo-Saxon, Danish, Norman, and
French, now yclept English.

'Very well, uncle, let us spell it R, H, Y, D, D, R, C, H,--eight
consonants without the aid of one single vowel. I declare the very name
is courage itself,--no auxiliary forces. Gladys, I beg you will always
sign yourself so when you write to Mrs Jones; and be sure you spell your
own name as it ought to be spelt,--G, W, L, A, D, Y, S. Even this shows
the weakness of the female sex; you do require one little vowel to help
along the consonants,'

'Ha, ha, ha!' shouts Mr Prothero, 'he has you now, brother Jo.'

'Not at all. Owen seems to have forgotten that w and y are vowels. But
he never had a taste for study, Rowland is quite different; and our dear
niece, Claudia, is much better suited to him than to Owen, for she
appreciates the wisdom of a past age.'

'The little hypocrite,' cries Owen. 'She doesn't--'

'I never could have supposed Lady Mary could be so affable,' interrupts
Gladys, fearing a dispute.

'She can be anything she likes,' says Mrs Jones. 'She pressed me and Mr
Jones to stay there to-day, but I could not have done so without Freda.
She was especially kind all last week, and resolved to go through
everything properly. I told her that your uncle could only stay two
clear days, and that we had promised to spend them here. It is such a
relief to be here, Mr Gwynne and Mrs Gwynne Vaughan are very well; but
her ladyship's constant tact and effort to do exactly the right thing
are wearying.'

'Do my Laddy Marry be very grand? Grander than Laddy Simpson, Mrs
Jones?' asked Mrs Jenkins, in an undertone, of her neighbour. She has an
infinite awe of Mrs Jonathan.

'I don't think I ever saw Lady Simpson,' says Mrs Jones,

'Not be seeing Laddy Simpson! Well, it is no loss for you. She was as
ugly an 'ooman as I ever was seeing. I am hating the Simpsons, and no
wonder. But Miss Gwynne is a lady,--Mrs Rowland Prothero, I am meaning.
She was coming to see me the other day, and says she, "I know you h