‘But I don’t know her name!’ exclaimed Nora, ‘though I suppose she lives somewhere over the way, because she ordered the old hedger to lead the cobs home, as if he were her servant. Oh, she is such a pretty young woman. Her face is perfectly lovely. I think it was because I was so occupied gazing at her, that I forgot to ask her name.’
‘A very pretty girl,’ repeated Sir Archibald. ‘I think that must be one of the Llewellyns. They’re the prettiest girls for a good many miles round Usk. Isn’t that the case, Dolly?’ he said, addressing his wife.
‘Well, I’ve only seen the married one,’ she replied, but I know they bear that reputation. The father is a very handsome old man.’
At the name of Llewellyn, Lady Ilfracombe looked up quickly, and the earl and Jack Portland exchanged glances with each other.
‘What is there in that to surprise you?’ demanded their host, mistaking the meaning of their looks. ‘Wales is rather celebrated for beauty, you know; at least we won’t allow that England, Ireland or Scotland can hold a candle to us in that respect.’
Ilfracombe did not seem disposed to answer, so Jack Portland took upon himself to be spokesman.
‘I have not the slightest doubt of your superiority, Sir Archibald,’ he said, ‘and was not the least surprised to hear you say so. I only thought I had heard the name before.’
‘What! of Llewellyn? I should be surprised if you had not. We are all Llewellyns, or Owens, or Lewises, or Thomases in Wales. It’s one of the commonest names here. I’ve about half a dozen Llewellyns amongst my tenants. But this man’s daughters are really uncommonly handsome. Fine tall girls, with splendidly cut features. By Jove! it’s a pleasure to go to the farm only to catch a glimpse of one of them.’
‘And that’s why you’re always going over there then,’ cried Lady Bowmant. ‘I’ve caught you at last, my gentleman. No more Panty-cuckoo Farm for you. I’ll take good care of that.’
‘Panty-cuckoo Farm! Is that where my rustic beauty lives?’ exclaimed Nora. ‘What a fanciful name! What does it mean? Panty-cuckoo.’