He made his bow,
she curtseyed, and said,--
'Mrs Howel Jenkins' brother, I believe? My name is Simpson.'
Owen bowed again, and not being of a shy turn, and having seen ladies of
various degrees during his travels, began to make himself agreeable.
In a few minutes, a little French fairy flitted into the room, with her
hair off her face to display such eyes and complexion as are rare in all
times; and muslins, laces, and ribbons so blended, as to set off a
petite figure to the very best advantage. Owen was going to bow again,
when a little affected laugh, and a 'Ma foi! he doesn't know me, Miss
Simpson,' proclaimed the fairy to be his sister Netta.
'Owen, you naughty boy, not to know me,' the little thing continued,
more naturally, running up to her brother, who took her, despite
muslins, laces, and ribbons, almost up in his big arms, and kissed her.
'How you have rumpled me, Owen? did you ever see such a thing, Miss
Simpson?' she cried, half laughing, half in tears, as she smoothed down
the point-lace sleeves and collar.
Just then a tall man entered, and Netta disengaging herself from Owen,
who was on the point of kissing her again, and asking her what she had
done to herself, simpered out an introduction between 'Captain Dancy and
my brother, Captain Prothero.
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