Again he looked at Netta, as she sat curled up on a sofa, a mere child
in appearance, but so pretty, in white, with some sort of
cherry-coloured ornaments for dress and head, that no one could possibly
have recognised her as the country belle of twelve months ago. 'Her own
mother would not know her!' thought Howel. 'Poor mother, she would
scarcely care for all this grandeur, though one can't help envying it a
little. I will be off to California, and come home and buy a place, and
see whether Gladys would not be as good a fine lady as Netta.'
The dinner was grand; the servants were grand; all was grand to Owen's
bewildered imagination. Madame Duvet made such very decided attempts to
talk to him, however, that he was obliged to cease wondering, and to
bring his usually versatile genius into play, in the light of all the
grandeur. He got on so well with the lady, that Howel wondered in his
turn, and after dinner told Owen that he verily believed if he played
his cards well, he might make an impression on the pretty widow.
'One can do that, I should say, without any cards at all,' said Owen,
showing his white teeth from amidst his big black beard.
When the ladies had left the dinner-table, Owen began to gain some
insight into the characters and pursuits of Howel's guests.
Pages:
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404