'Isn't Davies, Pennycoed, that you used to tell us was once a lover of yours, a widower?' continued Owen.
'Well, Owen,' said Mrs Jenkins, not displeased, 'you are always for jokes, but I do mean never to marry again.'
'Don't make any rash vows; a young woman like you!'
Here Netta having dried her eyes, joined the party, and shortly after Mr Prothero's voice was heard.
'After tea!' whispered Mrs Prothero to Mrs Jenkins, as she went out to meet her husband. 'Here's Elizabeth Jenkins, David, come over to see us, and she is going to stay to tea. I think she wants to speak to you afterwards.'
'Very glad to see her; but Howel sha'n't have Netta a bit the more for that.'
Mr Prothero put on a smart coat, brushed his hair, and came into the parlour, as became one about to meet a grand lady.
'How d'ye do, cousin 'Lizabeth? Glad to see you looking so well; welcome to Glanyravon.'
They shook hands, and as Mrs Jenkins made rather a grand attempt at a curtsey, Owen looked at Netta, and showed his white teeth; but Netta was as grave as a judge.
Mr Prothero was as much struck with the improvement in the widow's appearance as his son.