"It's a lovely place, isn't it?" she said, watching Owain's eyes roving round. "Very lovely," he assented warmly. "We could be very happy here."
"We!"--Gwen flushed hotly--"what do you mean?" Then it was Hench's turn to flush. "I beg your pardon. I spoke without thinking, you see. What a lucky person your cousin is," he ended artfully.
"I don't envy him his luck," she replied coldly, "and I'm sorry for the place, let alone the people. He is sure to be disagreeable."
"But not knowing him, how can you judge?" protested Owain, much vexed at this persistent hostility.
"I knew my father and I heard all about my Uncle Owain. No good can come out of Nazareth, and no decent man from the Evans family."
Hench inwardly groaned and considered that she would have small mercy on him when she came to realize that he was the wicked heir in question. Madoc Evans must indeed have been a cruel parent to prejudice her so greatly against the race whence she sprung. However, he had little time to consider this question, as the door opened and a stiff, stately old dame in a black silk dress and wearing a lace cap made her appearance. She was a comely woman in spite of her age, and smiled all over her wrinkled face when she beheld the girl.
"La, Miss, I am glad to see you. I thought you were never coming again."
"I wish to show this gentleman the house and grounds," said Gwen, stepping into a large hall, with busts of the Caesars on pedestals ranged on either side. "I suppose my cousin has not yet come?"
"No, Miss," said Mrs. Capes respectfully, and looking at Owain in a puzzled way as though she recognized his face. "The lawyers wrote to tell me that he was coming some time before the end of the year, but they couldn't be sure when."
"Curious," murmured Gwen to herself. "I wonder why he is so slow in coming?"