Gladys, the Reaper

by Anne Beale

'Do you call his beaux yeux? Little ferret eyes like his! No; guess again.'

'Young Rithe Rithe?'

'Wrong again.'

'Not Captain Lewith?'

'Some one much nearer home.'

'I do not know any one elthe, exthept that Mr Howel Jenkinth, who, they thay, will be quite a grand man.'

'I do not even know him. What do you think of his cousin, Mr Rowland Prothero?'

'I never thought about him; mamma thayth he ith very handthome, but I am thure he is very gauche and countrified.'

'Oh, I am sure he is not. You are greatly mistaken, he has been in excellent society, and is going at once to a London living—curacy I mean, but it is all the same.'

Miss Hall looked rather amazed at Freda. A few hours before she had been lamenting the necessity of entertaining that 'stupid young Prothero.'