'You should not say that; but you have another grandmother whom you have never seen.'
'Shall we go to her, mammy dear? and will you come, Uncle Rowland? and shall the kind lady come, and Gladys? and then we can gather those pretty flowers. I saw them growing once at the Crystal Palace, and they would not let me pick them.'
Netta forgot her grief, Rowland his sermon, Miss Gwynne her dignity, in talking to Minette of Glanyravon and its inhabitants; and, by degrees, they fell into a conversation upon old friends and old times, that ended in the days when they played together as children in the garden at the vicarage, whilst the squire and his lady were paying their periodical visits to the vicar and his lady.
Unconsciously it oozed out how every incident of those childish games was remembered and treasured up by Rowland, as well as the meetings of a more advanced age, when, as a Rugby boy, he tried to make himself agreeable to the young heiress, who bestowed no thought on him.
But Rowland suddenly remembered that he was treading on dangerous ground, and must not forget who he was, and who Miss Gwynne was. Those words always came to haunt him, whenever he felt more than usually happy; and how could he feel happy for one moment, with Netta possibly dying, and Howel an exile for forgery. Poor fellow, it was only a passing gleam through the mists of a hard life; let him enjoy it.
Gladys returned, and Rowland got a cab for Miss Gwynne, who went home to dinner. Rowland had some tea, and went to his evening service in the church.
After tea, Gladys read a story to Minette, which interested Netta, and so the day passed, with but a slight recurrence of Netta's nervous excitement.
Gladys asked Netta if she would like her to read a chapter in the Bible, and Netta said yes; so, with Minette on her lap, she read one of the lessons of the day, which she knew to be particularly applicable to her.
'I will read the other with you,' said Netta, when it was concluded taking her mother's little Testament out of her pocket.
'I wish you would teach me to read, Gladys?' said Minette. 'Justine taught me to read French, and to say French prayers, but I can't read English,'