Owen led Gladys to his father, who did not well know what to do on the occasion, not being quite satisfied with the respectability of the parentage of his future daughter-in-law.
Gladys summoned all her courage, and standing before Mr Prothero, said firmly,—
'You will be glad, sir, to know that I have found my friends, and that they acknowledge me as their relation. I could never have consented to bring disgrace upon you and yours. I do not think I could have accepted your present great kindness even, had I not been able to make my truth as clear as the noon-day. Mr Jones, with whom Miss Gwynne and I have been living so long, is my uncle—my mother's own brother.'
The general exclamations of surprise may be imagined.
'The girl's dreaming, like Netta,' from Mr Prothero.
'Why didn't you tell me before?' from Owen.
'I knew she was true,' from Mrs Prothero.
'How can this be, Gladys?' from Netta.
Gladys told her story simply. Every one was too much engrossed with it, to think of the pretty picture that wondering family group made; but as we know it already, we will look at the picture whilst she is telling her tale.
The large, old-fashioned sofa is placed at one side of the fire-place, its head against the wall, its foot towards the window, so as to give Netta warmth and the view of the distant hills at the same time. Between the head of the sofa and the fire-place is an arm-chair, also against the wall, Mr Prothero's favourite seat; and Minette's footstool is by the side of her mother, and at the feet of her grandfather.