Her daughter is like her in profile, but has not her fascination of manner. She is, however, beautiful as a statue, with chiselled features and marble complexion. But she does not at present appear to have character enough to possess the clever malice of her mother. This may possibly come with suitors and rivals, who generally draw out all the evil, and sometimes much of the good, of woman's nature. She is now simpering and blushing and saying pretty nothings between Rowland Prothero and a certain Sir Hugh Pryse, who, on their respective parts, think her a goose, being attracted elsewhere. Sir Hugh is exerting his lungs to their utmost, and much beyond the boundaries that etiquette would vainly try to impose upon them, in endeavouring to attract the attention of Miss Gwynne; whilst Rowland is, as we before said, discussing the death of Mr Jenkins and the prospects of his son. Perhaps the most uncomfortable person at the table is Netta, who really does not quite understand how to behave herself in the new atmosphere in which she finds herself. She never was at a dinner-party before, never waited upon by grand servants, never surrounded by such gay people; and, in spite of her ambition to eclipse by her beauty the Misses Nugent and Rice Rice, she feels and looks rather awkward. Miss Gwynne does all in her power to reassure her, but she sits, looking very pretty--by far the prettiest person in the room--and very ill at ease, until the ladies adjourn to the drawing-room, and she takes refuge in the pictures of the drawing-room scrap-book and her aunt. The gentlemen arrive in course of time, which they must do, linger as long as they will over the delights of port and politics, and then the various schemes and thoughts engendered at the dinner-table are brought to light over the coffee-cup. Miss Gwynne patronisingly singles out Rowland Prothero, who, reserved by nature, feels doubly so amongst the ill-assorted elements around him. 'Have you seen that poor girl since I was last at your house, Mr Prothero, and how is 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.'