As to his mother, knowing her peculiar tastes, he gave her a glass of brandy and water, upon plea of illness, which she took with evident pleasure; but fearing to attract the attention of the smart people around her, sipped so daintly, that it was not half finished when the signal to return to the carriages sounded, and Howel hurried her off.
'Just let me put this piece of chicken and ham into my bag, Howel, and finish this drop,' she whispered.
'Quick, mother, not a minute,' was all the answer she received, accompanied by a pull of the sleeve so imperative, that she was obliged to leave her half filled glass behind her.
At the Oxford Station, Netta began to wonder what Rowland would think of her conduct.
'Think!' said Howel, with a scowling brow, 'the prig! what right has he to think?
He will know that three or four thousand a-year are somewhat better than a London curacy--ha! ha! and wish himself in my place, I fancy,' As they neared London, Netta was haunted by visions of her brother, the only person she really feared.
'Suppose he should meet them! should find her out! Suppose the clergyman who married them should guess, from her name, she was his sister, and go and tell him ?' Howel laughed heartily at this, told her to look out of the window at London as they entered it, and see whether she thought one parson would be likely to be met by chance by another.
'This London!' exclaims Netta, 'I see nothing but the roofs of a lot of ugly black houses!' 'Carmarthen is as fine, and Swansea finer!' says Mrs Jenkins, her face expressive of great disappointment.
'Draw down your veils, and stand there whilst I get a cab,' says Howel, after they have descended upon the platform.
Netta trembles all over, and fancies every tall man in black must be Rowland.
'Name o' goodness what are all the people about ?' says Mrs Jenkins.

'My deet, there do be a lot of carriages! And look you, Netta, at all the gentlemen's servants in blue and silver! Here's a place! big enough to hold our town.

Look you at the glass--like a large hot-house.

Seure all London isn't covered up like this!' 'Here you are! all right--come along quick!' says Howel, taking them to a cab, and putting them in.
'Half Moon Street, Piccadilly,' and off they go, as fast as the poor cab-horse can take them.
'Now, what do you think of it, Netta ?' asks Howel, as they drive through the magnificent streets and squares of the West End of London, where every house looks a palace.
Netta was so bewildered that she could not answer; but Mrs Jenkins talked for both.
'Look you! well to be seure! that's grander than I ever see.

There's a church! Trees too! Who'd be thinking of trees in London?
Well, name o' goodness, where are all they people going?
That church 'ont hold 'em all! There's beauty! Is that St Paul's, Howel, bach! or the Monument?
My Griffey was talking of them! There's houses! Seure that's Prince Albert's coach! There again! Where was all those carriages going?
Ach a fi! that man was just driving into our horse.