“Oh, the right man will certainly come, Gwenfan. I declare there he is. Look! look! be quick! Why, he is coming here. If you wish to escape his net, fly, my niece, at once to your room.”
“Fly? I will not do that, aunty,” said Gwenfan, laughing. “Though perhaps we had better retire and prepare ourselves to receive him.”
“Well thought of, my child; and tell the servant, if he seeks us, to show him into the drawing-room, where we will presently join him.”
When the servant opened the door, the young gentleman inquired if Miss Wynn were within, as he wished to see her on a matter of some importance. Receiving a reply in the affirmative, the servant conducted the stranger to the drawing-room, on entering which he took a seat in the great bay-window, from which he gazed on the glorious prospect around. So enchanted was he with the sight, the exquisite beauty of the scene, that he did not notice the entrance of the ladies, who had been a few minutes in the room before he became aware of their presence. At last Miss Aunt Wynn approached the chair on which he was seated, when the ruffle of her dress awoke him from his reverie. He then rose, apologised for his abrupt visit, but excused himself by saying that circumstances had occurred which had compelled him to alter his original arrangement, hence he found himself there two days earlier than he had expected.
“But ladies, in my having to apologise, I forget to introduce myself. My name is Rhys Roberts, and I presume,” pointing to the young lady standing by her aunt’s chair, “that she is your niece, Miss Gwenfan Wynn.”
“Yes, sir; this young lady is my niece.”
“I thought so. She is the very image of her brother.”
“And do you know my brother?” asked Gwenfan.
“Know him! He is my father’s chief hand, and my most intimate friend.”
“When did you see or hear from my brother, sir?”