must fill our houses with all the Irish beggars that come through
Carmarthenshire! A goodly company!'

'Have you seen this poor girl. Miss Gwynne?'

'No, certainly not, but I know by heart all she has to say.'

'If you would but just see her,' said Mrs Prothero entreatingly not
daring to contradict the heiress of Glanyravon Park, who had a will of
her own, if Mrs Prothero had not.

'With the greatest pleasure; but I know all the "my leddy's," "yer
honour's," and "the sweet face o' ye," that I shall hear.'

'Don't go, Miss Gwynne, you may take the fever. I wouldn't go for the
world,' cried Netta.

'I am not afraid of fevers or anything else, I hope,' said Miss Gwynne
contemptuously. 'You will be afraid of catching a toothache from
infection next,' and herewith she left the room, followed by Mrs
Prothero.

During their short absence, Mr Rowland Prothero read his sister a very
proper lecture for a clergyman, on Christian charity and filial
obedience, to which she listened with pouting lips and knitted brow, but
with no answering speech, good or bad. She was not silent because she
had nothing to say, but because she was afraid of her brother, who was
the only person of whom she was afraid. Her feelings, however, found
vent in the leaves of a rose that she was pulling to pieces and
scattering ruthlessly.