'Is tea ready, Mrs Thompson?' asked Howel, hastening into the passage.
'Yes, sir!' replied Mrs Thompson, trying to catch a glimpse of Netta's face.
'This way, mother,' said Howel, striding upstairs. 'You can send the traps into the bedrooms, Mrs Thompson. William, take them up.'
This to a smart tiger, emblazoned in green and gold, belonging to Howel's private menagerie.
'What a lovely room! what a beautiful fire!' cried Netta, as she followed Howel into a handsome first-floor drawing-room.
'Treue for you there!' said Mrs Jenkins, surveying herself in the glass.
Tea was ready, and a substantial repast besides, of which they all soon began to partake, and to which they did justice.
'I do wish I had that drop of brandy I left in those grand rooms, I am feeling a pain,' began Mrs Jenkins.
Howel drew a flask from his pocket, and poured a little brandy into his mother's tea.
'This must be the first and last time mother,' he said, as he did so.