It is no wonder that the world without Plas Abertewey was much engaged
in talking of, and speculating on, the world within. Howel's horses,
Netta's dress, Miss Simpson's father's baronetcy, Captain Dancy's
regiment, Plas Abertewey's appointments, the footmen's liveries, the
reputed wealth of the miser, even Mrs Griffith Jenkins' _moire antique_,
mourning ornaments and gold watch were variously remarked upon, and
doubtless with great good nature and deserving approbation. We all know
how we rejoice when our neighbours rise to wealth or eminence. There was
not one breakfast-table within twenty miles of Abertewey, from that of
my lord and my lady to Jim Davies and his wife, shoemakers, over which
the arrival of Howel Jenkins, the miser, as he was called, according to
his father before him, was not pulled to pieces, from the first sound of
the bells to the last shout at his hall door.
'Shall we call?' were the words on the lips of all heads of families,
generally settled by the said 'heads' driving in their very best
equipages and gayest clothes, to pay the wedding visit to the reputed
millionnaire and his pretty, elegantly attired wife.
Money, as I have somewhat commonplacedly remarked elsewhere, is the
master-key to most hearts, and Howel found that nearly all the hearts in
his native county were opened by his wealth.
Pages:
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395