Ah, Mrs Prothero! you was being very good to us when I was losing my poor Griffey.

Who'd be thinking what a heap of money he'd be leaving, and Howel'll be building a good house for me?
and seure, I must be dressing in my best, and having servants to wait on me?
and, bless you, nothing as my son Howel's can be getting is too good for his poor old mother!' 'I am very glad to hear he is so kind,' said Mrs Prothero.
'Then what do you say about Netta, Mrs Prothero, fach ?' sharply asked Mrs Jenkins.
'To tell you the truth, I have very little power; my husband made up his mind and wrote the note without consulting me.' 'Then maybe I could be seeing Mr Prothero ?' 'I am afraid it would only lead to something unpleasant between you.' 'Oh, you needn't be taking the trouble to be afraid, ma'am! I am calling my Howel as good or better as your Netta.

There was a time when you might been looking higher, but now I conceit it, it will be us as do condescend.

There's Miss Rice Rice, and the Miss Jamms's, Plas Newydd, and Miss Lawis, Pontammon, and Miss Colonel Rees, and Miss Jones the 'Torney, and Miss Captain Thomas, and I 'ouldn't say but Miss Gwynne, Glanyravon, do be all speaking, and talking, and walking, and dancing with my Howels! There's for you: and yet he do like his cousin Netta best he do say.' 'If you wish to see David, Mrs Griffey, I will call him,' said timid Mrs Prothero, at her wits' end for anything to say or do.
'Seurely I am wishing to see him,' said Mrs Jenkins majestically.
David had not come in from his farm, so there was nothing for it but to ask Mrs Jenkins to take off her bonnet and have some tea, to which that lady graciously consented.

When the crape shawl and black kid gloves were removed Mrs Prothero perceived a large mourning brooch, containing a gloomy picture of a tomb, set in pearls and diamonds, and surrounded by the age, death, etc., of the lamented deceased; and a handsome mourning ring, displaying a portion of iron-grey hair, also set in pearls and diamonds, and surrounded with an appropriate epithalamium.
Mrs Prothero sat 'washing her hands in invisible soap,' whilst she saw these ensigns of grandeur in the once mean, ill-dressed Mrs Jenkins, and heard of all that 'her Howels' was about to effect.
Owen came in, and with due gravity admired the mourning insignia, and examined the dates, age, etc., of the defunct Griffey.