'Now, aunt, it is our turn, if you please,' said Owen, as soon as Mrs Jenkins gave him time to speak. 'Will you tell my mother Netta's message?'
'I am taking it very unkind that you should all turn upon me. David Prothero I 'spected 'ould be in a passion, but, stim odds! Netta said, cousin, that I wos to tell you she was sorry to be leaving you in a hurry, but that she had everything she could be wishing, gowns, and white shoes, and lace veils—seure you never wos seeing such a beauty—and a stafell—trosy they do call it in London—good enough for my Lady Nugent, and a goold watch and chains, and rings and bracelets, ach un wry! there's grand!'
'But what did Netta say to me, cousin 'Lizbeth? I don't care if she was all gold from head to foot. I would rather have her here in rags,' said Mrs Prothero, bursting afresh into tears.
'She's more likely to be here in satins and velvets, cousin,' said Mrs Jenkins, rising from her seat, and walking up and down, apparently in great wrath. 'What you think of my Howels and your Netta at Abertewey: And you to be all toalking as if we wos ail dirt. And they in France, over the sea, where I 'ould be going with them only I am so 'fraid of the water.'
'There's a loss it would be, Aunt 'Lizbeth, if anything had happened to you! Suppose a shark had swallowed you up! gold watch, mourning ring, silk gown, brooch, and all? Those creatures aren't particular. But we haven't had all Netta's message yet.'
'She was sending her kind love and duty to you, cousin, and was saying she was sorry to be leaving you, but my Howels was so kind as you, and she was as happy as could be.'
'Did she cry, cousin? did she shed one tear?' asked Mrs Prothero, sitting up in bed, and looking at Mrs Jenkins with a quick, wild eye, quite unlike her usual quiet glance.
'You needn't be looking at me so fierce, cousin, I didn't be killing Netta. Is seure—she did cry enough, if that's a pleasure to you. She was crying when she was meeting my Howels; she was crying when she was putting on her wedding gown; she was crying when the parson was preaching that sermon, and when the thunder and lightning did frighten her, seure, and no wonder—'
'Did it thunder and lighten when they were married? 'asked Mrs Prothero, through her sobs.
'Yes, indeet! I thoate I should be struck myself; but she was soon forgetting it at breakfast; they do call it breakfast, you see, but I never was seeing a grander dinner. Chickens, and tongue, and ham, and meats, and cakes, and jellies, and fruit, and wines, all froathing up like new milk, some sort of pain they was calling it; but I never did be seeing such good pain or tasting it before, he! he!'