"Madlen is to be my bridesmaid, and Ivor Parry will be the teilwr.[[11]] Who shall I find for thee? Dye Pentraeth? I have heard thee art fond of him!"
"Dye Pentraeth?" said Gwladys, with perfect composure. "Wel, indeed! he will do very well for me; I will get on all right with him; but I don't think thou hast ever heard I am fond of him, Gwen; thee hast made a mistake."
"Perhaps, indeed!" said Gwen, with a yawn. "Was it Ivor Parry, perhaps? I didn't take much notice."
Now, indeed, Gwladys was moved, and Gwen watched her mercilessly as a crimson flush overspread cheeks, forehead, and neck.
"They were right, too, I see," she said, in a sarcastic tone. "Wel, wel, merch i, 'tis to be hoped he will be pleased when I tell him."
"They were wrong!" said Gwladys, covering her face with both hands for a moment; and then, standing up, she indignantly threw the corner of the sail away from her. "Thee hast insulted me enough! To say I loved a man who did not love me! Wel wyr!" and her fiery Welsh blood surged through her veins, her bosom heaved, and her eyes flashed, and Gwen was satisfied.
"Twt, twt," she said, "there's no need for a beacon fire! I wasn't thinking what I said——"
"Wilt tell him such a thing?" said Gwladys; "if thee dost, I will tell the Mishteer!"
"Not I!" said Gwen; "I have other things to think about." And sitting down to her work again, Gwladys' quick temper subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, and they parted at the end of the day with no outward signs of anger.
Later on, when the sun had set and the sea lisped and murmured down in the little harbour, Gwladys took her creel on her shoulders, and made her way across the wet, shining sands. Her destination was a creek just round the reef of rocks that bounded the harbour on the south side, where Nance Owen gathered her laver weed every day, leaving it in a shady place until Gwladys, to whom the work was a labour of love, could carry it home for her, as she was too weak and infirm herself.