It was difficult for Netta to know what to say about the death of the miser. She was not sorry, and she could not tell how her cousin felt.
'Oh, yes; my mother is pretty well. I have been ill, but shall soon be all right again. Netta, how long is it since we met?'
'A twelvemonth next Friday.'
'You remember the day, dear Netta. Then you do not hate me, although they have done their best to make you do so, by calling me gambler, spendthrift, drunkard, and all the charming etceteras.'
'Oh no, Howel.'
'Take off that bonnet, and let me see if you are altered.' He unfastened the strings, and let the long black curls fall over the girl's neck. 'No, you are only prettier than ever, cousin Netta. How would you look in lace and pearls, and all the goodly array of a fine lady?'
'I don't know, Howel; but tell me what you wanted me for.
'Just let me twist this bunch of roses into your hair first, to see how an evening toilette would become my pretty cousin Netta.'
Howel had torn a spray from the rose-bush at their back, and he inserted it carelessly amongst the curls.
'How well you look, Netta. I should like to see you in a ball-room. We will go together to plenty of balls, if you will only consent.'