No sooner were
they fairly gone than Howel set to work to pay and arrange; this done,
he called Netta to look at their wedding cards. There were a great
number directed to different friends, some to acquaintances in their old
neighbourhood, and one to David Prothero, Esq., Glanyravon.
Netta quailed but said nothing.
'Now let me read you this, Netta? it is for the _Welshman,_ and every
one will see it:--"On the 16th instant, at St James's Church,
Piccadilly, London, Howel Jenkins, Esq., of our county, was married to
Miss Prothero, daughter of D. Prothero, Esq., of Glanyravon. Sir John
Simpson gave away the lovely bride, and the wedding-breakfast was
attended by a select, but fashionable party of friends."'
'Father will see that,' said Netta; 'he will be in such a passion.'
'Serve him right,' replied Howel, and called the page and sent the
letters to the post.
The carriage was at the door, and the luggage in. Mrs Griffith Jenkins
was busily engaged in packing up the cake and a spare bottle of
champagne, together with a few other confections' in a stray hamper.
'Make haste, mother,' cried Howel.
'Stop you, Howel, bach! in a minute. We must be wishing you joy at home;
and I should like to be sending cousin Prothero some of this grand
cake.
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