THE PATRON'S WIFE.
The following morning, Netta was not well, and did not appear at the
breakfast-table. Howel said she had a bad headache, and did not intend
going to church.
Breakfast was hurried over to prepare for a six miles' drive to church,
and the carriage conveyed the two ladies and three of the gentlemen
thither, resplendent with fashion and emblazoned prayer-books. Mr Deep
did not go, and Owen determined to remain at home, in order to secure
the desired conversation with Netta.
Mr Deep, however, seized upon him first of all.
It had not escaped that keen observer, that Howel had hinted the
previous evening that Owen possessed property in reversion; which,
indeed, he did, inasmuch as his father was a small landed proprietor,
and had several farms of his own, descended to him from his father, and
entailed upon Owen.
Mr Deep was reading some racing calendar, and called Owen's attention to
his brother-in-law's name in connection with the names of men of note on
the turf. Also to his horse, Campaigner as being one of those entered
for the Ascot races.
Then he went very cautiously to work to see whether he could not induce
Owen to bet; but he, holding up again his nearly empty purse, laughed
his merry laugh, and said,--
'I am not to be caught, Mr Deep. I hate horse-racing, and never laid a
wager of any kind in my life. That is the only redeeming point in my
character. Wild enough I have been, and roving all my life, but I never
gambled. Excuse me now, as I must go and see my sister.'
He went accordingly to Netta's room, and after knocking at the door,
and hearing that she was still in bed, entered unceremoniously. He was
at once struck with the difference between the Netta of the farm, in her
little muslin night-cap, that he had often fairly pulled off, to get her
to promise to leave the pretty white-curtained bed, and the lady of
Abertewey, in lace and fine linen, reclining beneath satin drapery, in a
room furnished most luxuriously.
'Well, Netta, I have you alone at last; and now, if your head is not
very bad, we will have a regular old-fashioned gossip,' said Owen,
stooping to kiss the pretty flushed face of the little sister he dearly
loved, despite her follies.
'Did you stop at home for me, Owen? How very kind! I don't think any one
else would,' said Netta.
'Oh, yes, many others would if it were necessary; but I wanted to have
you all to myself. Now I know you have been longing to ask me a hundred
questions, but have never got beyond "How are they all at home?" yet.'
Netta blushed, and stammered out, as an apology, that she had never been
at leisure one minute all the week.
By degrees she began to talk of home and her parents, and Owen was glad
to find that as she did so she returned to her old, natural self. He
told her everything that had happened at Glanyravon since she left it,
save and except what related to Gladys. He never even mentioned her
name.
Netta had various ebullitions of temper during their conversation and
declared herself greatly aggrieved by her father's conduct.
'But it is just as well,' she said, 'for our positions are so different
that we should never have got on comfortably. Howel is determined never
to make up with father.'
'I am afraid he is not likely to have the option,' said Owen, gravely.
'But you should write and beg his pardon, Netta; you know you acted
directly contrary to his wishes.'
'I think I would write, Owen, but Howel won't hear of it; he gets
furious if I even name Glanyravon, and can't bear any of 'em except
you.'
'Netta, I think you must use your influence to keep Howel from so much
horse-racing and betting and card-playing.'
'He don't care for what I say, and goes in a passion when I advise him.'
'But surely you needn't play yourself as you do, and so late! Only think
what my mother--'
'Nonsense, Owen. That would be very fine for Rowland; but you needn't
take to lecturing. You never were a pattern brother or son either.'
Owen felt his sister's words more keenly than she intended.
'You are right, Netta, but I hope to mend. I must go away to-morrow in
order that I may begin. I mean to make some money this next voyage, and
come home, and set up as a steady fellow and good son.'
'And marry Madame Duvet? Do you know she is regularly in love with you?
and they say she has a large fortune in France.'
'There it may remain for me. But I wish you wouldn't play cards
Sundays.'
'They all do it in Paris, Owen, and what's the harm? Besides, it was
only Saturday night; and we never do play Sundays, as you will see
to-day. By-the-bye, what's gone with that Methodistical, lack-a-daisical
Gladys? Is mother as mad about her as ever?'
'She saved your mother's life when there was no one else to nurse her,
and is an angel, if ever there was one!'
Netta opened her large black eyes very wide, and burst out laughing.
'_Ma foi_! is that the last? Well, indeed! I never should have suspected
her of making an impression. But she's deep enough for anything. How
would father like that? Irish beggar against Abertewey! Come, Howel's
better than that any day.
'Handsome is that handsome does,' said Owen, getting very red. 'And
Gladys has done well ever since she's been at Glanyravon by every one
belonging to us, not excepting yourself.'
'Very much obliged to her, I am sure,' said Netta, suddenly sitting up
in bed, and forgetting her headache. 'She needn't trouble herself about
me. I fancy we are never likely to cross one another again, unless she
chances to come a-begging to Abertewey, and then perhaps--'
'And then perhaps you would give her a penny and send her on to starve.
Oh! Netta, Netta, how were you ever my mother's daughter? But once for
all, Netta, I will never hear one word spoken against Gladys. _I_ at
least am thankful that I still have a mother, and I owe it to her.'
'Dear me! you needn't be in such a huff directly, Owen. How was I to
suppose you were in love with an Irish--I beg your pardon, with Miss
Gladys O'Grady, County Kilkenny, Ireland? A very pretty name, to be
sure! But if you don't go away I shall never be dressed by the time they
come from church. There, go like a good boy. I 'ont offend you any
more.'
'I will go as soon as you have told me what you and Howel did in Paris.
I seem to know nothing of your proceedings for ages past.'
'It was dreadfully dull there at first, and I thought I should have
died of it. I quite longed to be at home again. Howel was a great deal
out, and I was alone; but then he gave me a singing master, and a French
and dancing mistress, and made me work as hard as if I was at school
again. In about a month Captain Dancy and Mr Simpson came over, and it
was much more pleasant. We used to go to the opera and the play nearly
every night, and Captain Dancy introduced me to Madame Duvet, and she
introduced me to a great many other ladies, English and French, and we
had a good deal of fun. I went to balls and parties, and picture
galleries, and the Champs Elysees, and all the fashionable places.'
'But where did Howel meet with Mr Deep?' interrupted Owen.
'Oh! he used to be with him from the first. They are very old friends,
Howel says, and have known one another for years; he is a very
fashionable man, an attorney by profession. Simpson says that the races
couldn't go on without him.'
'I should think not,' said Owen, smiling; 'at all events, Mr Simpson's
races would be at a stand still without him. Did you, did Howel play
much abroad?'
'Yes, I learned from Madame Duvet? and I think Howel and Mr Deep and the
other gentlemen used to play all day. You know they have nothing else to
do in Paris. It would be very dull there without cards.'
'Poor Netta! is that what you learned with your little bit of French?'
'I assure you, Owen, Monsieur Letellier and a dozen other Frenchmen said
I had a beautiful accent, and that they would have thought I was born in
Paris.'
Owen laughed heartily, and Netta was offended, and told him to go away.
Just as he was in the act of obeying, Howel appeared.
'What! not up, Netta? How's the head? Owen, there's a letter for you.
Llanfach post-mark, and from a lady? such a neat, pretty, ladylike hand!
How sly you are to have lady correspondents, and not let us know who the
charmer is!'
'Let me see the direction,' said Netta, trying to get the letter from
her brother.
'No, no,' said Owen. 'I must keep my secret for the present when it is
all settled you shall know.'
'It makes you blush, however,' laughed Howel.
'Is it Mary Jones, or Anne Jenkins, or Amelia Lewis, or Miss Richards,
doctor, or Jemima Thomas--or--or--perhaps it is Gladys. Ha, ha! do you
know, Howel, Owen's last is mother's Irish girl, Gladys?'
'Really?' sneered Howel. 'My mother tells me that she ran away from
Glanyravon, and report says with somebody we know of. But report was
false as usual; and she turns up again as Miss Gwynne's lady's maid.
Miss Gwynne is about as eccentric as the rest of the clique, and I wish
her joy of her bargain. The girl is a beauty, certainly, but--'
'Hush, Howel!' cried Netta; 'Owen was nearly boxing my ears about her
just now.'
'Not exactly, Netta,' said Owen, smothering rising anger, and looking
very red; 'but I won't hear a word said against her either by man or
woman. I am going to read my letter now, and you are going to get up, so
I won't stop here any longer,' and Owen left the room.
He went at once to his own bedroom, where he hastily broke open the
letter Howel had given him, and read as follows:--
'GLANYRAVON PARK, _May_----.
'SIR,--I hope you will excuse my boldness in writing to you; but
having heard that you are at Abertewey, I take the liberty of doing
so, to tell you that your leaving home has made us all very
unhappy. Oh! Mr Owen, if you would only go back and see your dear
mother and honoured father, and learn how lonely they are without
you, I think you would give up the sea, or at least remain with
them for some time. If you would write to the master, or say a few
gentle words to him, he would overlook your going to see your
sister, I am almost sure; and, indeed, it breaks my heart to know
that I was the cause of your going away so suddenly, after you had
been so long at home, and so good to your parents.
'Then, dear Mr Owen, you, who have been always so kind to me, a
poor orphan wanderer, and beggar at your father's gate, do, I pray
you, add this one favour more to the many you have done me, and
return to your parents, to take leave of them at least before you
go away. Hoping you will forgive my writing to you on this subject,
believe me to remain, Mr Owen, your obedient and grateful servant,
GLADYS O'GRADY.'
When Owen had read this letter twice, he devoutly kissed it, and
exclaimed,--
'This favour, Gladys! ay, and a thousand more, if you will only write to
me, and let one little "_dear_" slip in unawares every time you ask one.
I suppose I had better write to father to-day, and follow my letter
to-morrow.'
Owen sat down at once, and wrote the following brief epistle:--
'MY DEAR FATHER,--If I have offended you in any way, I am very
sorry. I didn't mean to do so, and shall return to-morrow to ask
pardon in person; but, remember, I am just as much in love with
Gladys as ever, and don't mean to curry favour about her. With best
love to mother, I am, your affectionate son, OWEN.'
That day at luncheon Owen announced his intention of leaving Abertewey
the following morning.
'To see the fair lady who wrote that neat note?' said Howel.
'Probably so,' replied Owen.
'Where are you going? We shall miss you dreadfully,' said Madame Duvet,
with an entreating glance.
'I fear we must all leave on Tuesday or Wednesday,' said Miss Simpson:
'at least if you still intend going to London with us, Madame Duvet. I
have had a letter from home, positively refusing any further extension
of leave, and my brother promises to return with me.'
'We may as well all go together, then,' said Captain Dancy, 'as I must
be in town this week; and Deep goes up on Tuesday. When are you coming,
Jenkins?'
'Only in time for Ascot. I cannot leave home until to-morrow week, and
shall probably only remain the race week. Mrs Jenkins is not going up,
and I shall not like to leave her long alone. Owen, you must come over
and see her when I am away.'
'I think you had better stay at home, Howel. You will run less risk in
taking care of Netta than you will at Ascot.'
'Thanks for your advice, but I know my own business best.'
'I beg your pardon, Howel, I meant no offence. But although I am going
home, I don't know how long I may stay there. Perhaps shall be off to
sea in a few days.'
'I will use your own words,' said Madame Duvet, 'and say better stay at
home, and take care of--let me see--yourself, I suppose. You will run
less risk than at sea.'
Owen laughed, and said he would not reply in Howel's words, as he was
not sure that he knew his own business best. But he did not add that he
should like to take care of Madame Duvet as she wished him to do.
Neither did that afternoon and evening at Abertewey improve Owen's
opinion of its inmates. French novels and betting-books were their
sermons, and he longed to take his poor little sister Netta away from
the contamination of such society. But she came downstairs after
luncheon was over, gay and bright in dress and person, and ready for any
amount of frivolity. Her countenance clouded over, when she heard how
soon the party was to be broken up; but when Howel assured her he
should be only a week absent, and that he would take her to town in
June, it cleared again.
Owen took his leave of Abertewey the following morning. Netta whispered
'Give my love to mother,' and had a very large tear in her black eye, as
he walked away, the remembrance of which often haunted him in after
days. Howel told him to come again whenever he liked, and accompanied
him as far as the lodge on his homeward journey.
When he reached Glanyravon, he found his mother prepared to receive him
with joyful love. His father came in soon after his return, and greeted
him as he expected, with a very wrathful lecture, which he bore
patiently, and to which he replied as follows:--
'Thank you, father; I am much obliged to you for all your abuse, but I
don't think I deserve it. As I am of age, and a few years past that
period, you must let me have a will of my own.'
'I think you have always had one,' roared the farmer.
'Yes, but not at home, father. I was obliged to run away to get it. But
now I mean to stay at home if you will let me. Gladys is gone away, so I
don't stay on her account.'
'I'm not seure of that. You never stayed on ours.'
'Well, I will now. But I can't promise to give up Netta. I've had enough
of Abertewey, and don't mean to go there any more as far as I can see at
present, and that's all I can say about that matter. As for Gladys, I
suppose I must get her consent and yours to marry her, and when I've got
them you won't object, I suppose?'
'I think you'd best go off to sea again. I don't want any agreements
made here.'
'I am not going to make any agreements, but as I am your eldest son, and
the only one able and willing to stay at home and help you and mother, I
do not see why you should wish to send me off to sea again, now that I
really would be of use to you. I know that I have not been what I ought
to have been to you hitherto, and my desire is to make up for the past
as well as I can. So, father, you had better take me whilst I am in the
humour, and see what you can make of me. Hit the nail while it is hot,
and don't discourage me at first starting, or I shall never get on. You
know I'm very shy, and want some one to lend me a helping hand. If
you're not too hard upon me you may make something useful of me yet.'
Owen put his hand on his father's shoulder, as he wound up his speech,
in a coaxing, boyish way, that had always proved irresistible. The
honest farmer pished and pshawed, and tried to get into a fresh
passion, but meeting Owen's saucy eyes, fairly broke down.
'I tell you what it is, Owen, you're a regular scamp, and always were;
but you know better than any of 'em to come over me, so--now, don't be a
fool, mother! Just because the good-for-nothing young scoundrel promises
to stay at home you must begin to cry. Name o' goodness hold your
tongue, and don't be coaxing and kissing me, and all that nonsense. He
'out keep his promise a month, you shall see.'
'So she shall, father, and you and I will shake hands upon it, and I'll
be a good boy, and never be naughty any more.'
Father and son shook hands, and mother and son embraced, and future
chapters will show whether Owen kept his word.