The ladies went to their retiring-room, whilst the gentlemen drank more champagne, and arranged various Parisian amusements.
It was understood that, as Howel had no friends to leave behind him for the final settlement of lodgings and the like, his guests were to depart before he and his bride left. They accordingly took their leave as soon as Netta reappeared in fashionable travelling costume. No sooner were they fairly gone than Howel set to work to pay and arrange; this done, he called Netta to look at their wedding cards. There were a great number directed to different friends, some to acquaintances in their old neighbourhood, and one to David Prothero, Esq., Glanyravon.
Netta quailed but said nothing.
'Now let me read you this, Netta? it is for the Welshman, and every one will see it:—"On the 16th instant, at St James's Church, Piccadilly, London, Howel Jenkins, Esq., of our county, was married to Miss Prothero, daughter of D. Prothero, Esq., of Glanyravon. Sir John Simpson gave away the lovely bride, and the wedding-breakfast was attended by a select, but fashionable party of friends."'
'Father will see that,' said Netta; 'he will be in such a passion.'
'Serve him right,' replied Howel, and called the page and sent the letters to the post.
The carriage was at the door, and the luggage in. Mrs Griffith Jenkins was busily engaged in packing up the cake and a spare bottle of champagne, together with a few other confections' in a stray hamper.
'Make haste, mother,' cried Howel.
'Stop you, Howel, bach! in a minute. We must be wishing you joy at home; and I should like to be sending cousin Prothero some of this grand cake.'
At last Mrs Jenkins and her hamper were ready, and the trio started for the Paddington Station.