Gladys, the Reaper. Anne Beale
simply to put themselves into the lottery, and only one can have the prize.'
'I never knew you so figurative before. Sir Hugh.' 'Don't pay any attention to him, Miss Gwynne,' said a fresh addition to the circle that stood round that young lady's chair. 'He means that old Griffey Jenkins, the miser, is dead, and that Howel comes into all his immense wealth.'
Miss Gwynne gave her head such a magnificent toss that her neck looked quite strained.
'I do not imagine many young ladies will purchase tickets in that lottery,' she said, with a stress upon the 'young ladies.'
'I have no doubt there are dozens who would, and will, do it at once,' responded Sir Hugh. 'And quite right too. Such a fortune is not to be had every day.'
'But it is gentlemen, and not ladies, who are fortune-hunters,' said Miss Gwynne, changing her tone, when she suddenly perceived that Netta's face and neck were crimson.
But the subject was become quite an interesting piece of local gossip, and, one after another, all the party joined in it.
'Howel Jenkins might make anything of himself if he would but be steady,' said Mr. Rice Rice.
'Except a gentleman by birth,' said his lady.
'Or the least bit of an archæologist,' said Mr. Jonathan Prothero. 'I tried one day—you will scarcely believe it, Mr. Gwynne—to make him understand that Garn Goch was an old British encampment, but he would not take it in.'
'Ah, really; I do not very much wonder myself, for I cannot quite "take in" those heaps of stones and all that sort of thing,' responded the host.
'What can they find to interest them in that sort of person?' asked Lady Mary in an aside to Mr. Gwynne.
Miss Gwynne overheard it, and answered for her father.
'He is a young man of great talent, very rich, very handsome, and has had a miser for a father. Is not that the case Mr. Rowland?'
'I—I—really, it is scarcely fair to appeal to me, as he is a relation.'
'And do you never say a good word in favour of your relations?'
'I hope so, when they deserve it,' said Rowland resolutely, glancing at his sister, who was biting her glove.
'If I may be allowed an opinion,' said Mrs. Jonathan decidedly, also glancing at poor Netta, 'I should say that Howel Jenkins was a complete scapegrace. What he may yet turn out remains to be proved.'
'Well, that is putting an end to him at once,' said Miss Gwynne, 'and I think we had better play his funeral dirge. Lady Mary, will you give us 'The Dead March in Saul,' or something appropriate? Never mind, Netta; I daresay cousin Howel will turn out a great man by-and-by;' this last clause was whispered to Netta, whilst the young hostess went towards a grand piano that stood invitingly open, and begged Lady Mary Nugent to give them some music.
That lady played some brilliant waltzes, after which, her daughter accompanied her in the small bass of a duet.
'Pon my soul, that's a pretty girl, that little Prothero!' said Sir Hugh Pryse to young Rice Rice. 'I never saw such a complexion in my life. Roses and carnations are nothing to it.'
'Rather a vulgar style of beauty, I think,' said Mr. Rice Rice, junior, taking up an eyeglass, and finding some difficulty in fixing it in his eye. He had lately discovered that he was nearsighted, to the great grief of his mother, who, however, sometimes spoke of the sad fact in the same tone that she used to speak of the Rice Rice, and Morgan of Glanwilliam families. She herself belonged to the latter.
'I vow she's lovely!' cried the baronet, so emphatically that every one in the room might have heard him. Most of the ladies, doubtless, did, and appropriated the sentiment, but, by-and-by, Netta was triumphant, as he went and sat by her, and complimented her in very audible terms.
She blushed and coquetted very respectably for a country damsel, and wondered whether a poor baronet, or a wealthy miser's son would best help her to humble the pride and condescension of the Nugents and the Rice Rices.
Whilst Lady Mary Nugent was playing, Mr. Gwynne very nearly went to sleep, and Rowland Prothero, who liked nothing but chants, and a solemn kind of music that he chose to think befitting a clergyman, was, in his turn, looking over the drawing-room scrap book. Miss Gwynne gave her papa a sly push, and whispered, that she believed Mr. Rowland Prothero played chess.
Mr. Gwynne aroused himself, and challenged his young neighbour. Miss Gwyne, assisted by all the gentlemen, brought the chess-table, and the game soon began.
There is no doubt that there is nothing in the world more selfish, more absorbing, more disagreeable to every one excepting the players, than chess. Mr. Gwynne began his game half asleep; Rowland began his in a very bad temper. The former was glad of anything that could keep him awake, the latter was disgusted at having been made the victim of Miss Gwynne's anxiety to preserve her father from falling fast asleep in the midst of his guests. But, by degrees, the one was thoroughly aroused, and the other forgot his annoyance. Both soon ignored the presence of any human being save himself and his opponent.
Music and talking sounded on all sides, but they made no impression on the chess-players. Lady Mary performed all her most brilliant airs and variations in vain, as far as Mr. Gwynne was concerned; and Rowland was even unconscious that Netta had resolutely played through all the small pieces she had learnt at school at the particular request of Sir Hugh Pryse.
'That game will never finish,' at last exclaimed Lady Mary, approaching Mr. Gwynne. 'How can any one like chess?'
Mr. Gwynne kept his finger on a piece he was about to move, glanced up, but did not speak.
'They tell me you ought to have at least five or six moves in your eye whilst you are making one,' said Sir Hugh. 'For my part, I always find one move at a time more than I can manage. It certainly is the dullest game ever invented.'
'Chess is a game of great antiquity,' said the Rev. Jonathan sententiously. 'It is supposed to have been invented in China or Hindustan, and was known in the latter place by the name Chaturanga, that is, four angas, or members of an army.'
'The army must be proud to send such members to parliament,' said young Rice Rice, with a consciousness of superior wit, in which the remainder of the party did not appear to participate.
'True, young gentleman,' said Mr. Jonathan, 'and well she might, for they were elephants, horses, chariots, and foot-soldiers; but what such members of an army have to do with parliament, I should be glad to hear you explain. I do not remember mention being made of parliament till the twelfth century. It was first applied to general assemblies in France during the reign of Louis the Seventh; and the earliest mention of it in England is in the preamble to the statute of Westminster in 1272. It is derived from the French word parler, to speak.'
'Then,' said Miss Gwynne, 'there must be some truth in what I have heard, that the first parliament was composed of women.'
'Good, good, 'pon my soul!' roared Sir Hugh.
'But Sir William Jones says of chess,' continued Mr. Jonathan, in the same unchanged tone and manner, 'that the Hindus—'
'Oh, my dear, pray do not let us hear anything of Sir William Jones; I am sick to death of all the Jones',' interrupted Mrs. Prothero, causing a diversion, and a suppressed laugh at her expense, instead of at young Rice Rice's, who had made the last sally upon Mr. Jonathan, and a somewhat mortifying retreat.
It was remarkable, that whoever made a sly attack upon that worthy, with a view to a joke, was sure to have the tables turned upon him, by the matter-of-fact way in which his joke was received, refuted, and cut to pieces.
'I assure you, my dear, there have been many very celebrated Jones', Sir William at the head of them. He was a great Oriental scholar. Then there was Inigo Jones, the architect; and John Paul Jones, the admiral; and Dr. John Jones, the grammarian, born in this very county; and—and—'
'That celebrated Mr.