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. He went so far as to venture upon a distant allusion to the future. 'I never thought those caps so becoming before, Aunt Jenkins,' he said, eyeing her from head to foot, and wondering that he had never previously been aware of what a good-looking woman his Welsh aunt was. A Welsh aunt, be it understood, is your father or mother's cousin, and Mrs Jenkins and Mr Prothero were first cousins. 'Isn't Davies, Pennycoed, that you used to tell us was once a lover of yours, a widower?' continued Owen. 'Well, Owen,' said Mrs Jenkins, not displeased, 'you are always for jokes, but I do mean never to marry again.' 'Don't make any rash vows; a young woman like you!' Here Netta having dried her eyes, joined the party, and shortly after Mr Prothero's voice was heard. 'After tea!' whispered Mrs Prothero to Mrs Jenkins, as she went out to meet her husband. 'Here's Elizabeth Jenkins, David, come over to see us, and she is going to stay to tea. I think she wants to speak to you afterwards.' 'Very glad to see her; but Howel sha'n't have Netta a bit the more for that.' Mr Prothero put on a smart coat, brushed his hair, and came into the parlour, as became one about to meet a grand lady. 'How d'ye do, cousin 'Lizabeth? Glad to see you looking so well; welcome to Glanyravon.' They shook hands, and as Mrs Jenkins made rather a grand attempt at a curtsey, Owen looked at Netta, and showed his white teeth; but Netta was as grave as a judge. Mr Prothero was as much struck with the improvement in the widow's appearance as his son. 'Why, I declare, cousin 'Lizabeth, you look ten years younger than you did when I saw you last. Do you mind when we two used to go nutting together? If 'twasn't for my good 'ooman there--' 'I was just saying so, father,' interrupted Owen; 'don't you think Davies, Pennycoed--' 'I am not having no intentions of marrying again,' simpered the widow; 'wanst is enough. My poor Griffey.' 'Quite right, cousin 'Lizabeth, wan Griffey is enough, in all conscience.'