There is a little stir and flutter among the company: Belinda Denzil moving to the piano; a music-stool screwed up and down; gloves taken off; then a polite hush, infringed only by a country gentleman in the distance saying something rather loud about guano, while Belinda informs her assembled friends in a faint soprano that "He will return; she knows he will." She has made the same asseveration any time the last ten years; but he has not returned yet, and her relatives begin to be afraid that he never will.
During the song Gerard falls into a reverie. At the end, coming out of it, he asks with an abrupt change of subject: "What did you say the name of your place was?"
"Glan-yr-Afon."
"Glan Ravvon?" (following her pronunciation.)
"Yes; you would never guess that it was sounded Glan Ravvon if you were to see it written: it is spelt quite differently."
"What does it mean? or does it mean anything?"
"It means 'Bank of the River;' so called, because it is not near the bank of any river."
"What part of the world is it in?—Europe, Asia, Africa, America, or the Polynesian Islands?"
"It is three miles from Naullan, if you are any the wiser."
"Naullan! Naullan!" he repeats, as if trying to overtake a recollection that eludes him. "Of course it does: why I was at Naullan once."