she to-day?' inquires the heiress.

'She asked to see me yesterday, and I went to her. She seemed more
composed, and liked being read to; but she is in a very precarious
state.'

'Is your father more reconciled to her being with you?'

'Not at all. And it certainly is very unfortunate. But he would not
allow her to be neglected now she is thrown on his kindness.'

'I wish she had never come,' interposed Netta, who had ventured to cross
the room to Miss Gwynne.

'Have you heard of the great catch you are all likely to have, Miss
Gwynne?' here broke in Sir Hugh Pryse, of stentorian reputation.

'I do not know what you mean,' said Miss Gwynne.

'Why, Mr Rice Rice tells me there is more than a hundred thousand pounds
to be raffled for by all the young ladies in the country. They have
simply to put themselves into the lottery, and only one can have the
prize.'

'I never knew you so figurative before. Sir Hugh.' 'Don't pay any
attention to him, Miss Gwynne,' said a fresh addition to the circle that
stood round that young lady's chair. 'He means that old Griffey Jenkins,
the miser, is dead, and that Howel comes into all his immense wealth.'

Miss Gwynne gave her head such a magnificent toss that her neck looked
quite strained.

'I do not imagine many _young ladies_ will purchase tickets in that
lottery,' she said, with a stress upon the 'young ladies.'

'I have no doubt there are dozens who would, and will, do it at once,'
responded Sir Hugh. 'And quite right too. Such a fortune is not to be
had every day.'

'But it is gentlemen, and not ladies, who are fortune-hunters,' said
Miss Gwynne, changing her tone, when she suddenly perceived that Netta's
face and neck were crimson.

But the subject was become quite an interesting piece of local gossip,
and, one after another, all the party joined in it.

'Howel Jenkins might make anything of himself if he would but be
steady,' said Mr Rice Rice.

'Except a gentleman by birth,' said his lady.

'Or the least bit of an archaeologist,' said Mr Jonathan Prothero. 'I
tried one day--you will scarcely believe it, Mr Gwynne--to make him
understand that Garn Goch was an old British encampment, but he would
not take it in.'

'Ah, really; I do not very much wonder myself, for I cannot quite "take
in" those heaps of stones and all that sort of thing,' responded the
host.

'What can they find to interest them in that sort of person?' asked
Lady Mary in an aside to Mr Gwynn