If you're a friend
of Miss Hall's, you're as welcome to our house as if you were born and
bred at Glanyravon.'
'You are very kind. It does one good to meet with true Welsh hospitality
once more.'
'You're not Welsh, sir, I should say?'
'I was Welsh originally; but it would be difficult to make out my
parish, as I have been wandering about for many years.'
'A clergyman, sir?'
'Yes, sir.'
The gentleman smiled, and thought the question savoured of American
curiosity.
'I have a son a clergyman. Perhaps you may have fallen in with him. They
tell me he's a very promising young man.'
'What is his name?'
'Prothero, sir--Rowland Prothero.'
'I do not know him personally, but I know him by reputation; he is
curate of an old friend of mine, Mr Stephenson.'
'To be seure--Rowly's rector! Allow me to shake hands with you, sir.
You'll sleep at Glanyravon.'
'Certainly, if I shall not inconvenience you and your family. Your
daughter looks very ill and tired; perhaps it may--'
'Not a bit, sir. She's not my daughter; she always looks as pale as
moonlight, 'scept when she blushes up; she'll see to a bed for a strange
gentleman, and so'll my missus. To think of your knowing Mr Stephenson!'
'Yes, I saw him during my short stay in town, and he told me he had a
capital curate, a countryman of mine.
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