CHAPTER III.
THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER.
'Nobody has come for that poor girl, Netta, and I have'n't the heart to send her away,' said Mrs Prothero to her only daughter Janetta, towards the close of the Sunday, the morning of which we noticed in the last chapter.
'I am sure, mother, you have been plagued quite enough with her already.
You have neither been to church nor chapel, and scarcely eaten a morsel all the day.

I can't imagine what pleasure you take in such people.' 'I wouldn't care if your father was at home; but I don't quite like to have her into the house without his leave, and she is not fit to be left in the barn.' 'Into the house, mother! That wild Irish beggar! Why, father would get into a fury, and I'm sure I should be afraid to sleep in the same place with such a creature.' 'Oh, my dear child! when will it please the Lord to soften your heart, and teach you that all men and women are brothers and sisters.' 'Never, I'm sure, in that kind of way.' Whilst the mother and daughter continue their conversation about Gladys, of which the above is a specimen, we will glance at Janetta Prothero, the spoilt daughter of Glanyravon Farm.
She is decidedly a pretty girl?
some might call her a beauty.

She has dark eyes, black hair, a clear pink and white complexion, a round, dimpled cheek, a fair neck, a passable nose, and a very red-lipped, pouting mouth.

She is small of stature--not much taller than her mother--but so well-formed, that her delicate little figure is quite the perfection of symmetry.

Her movements are languid rather than brisk like her mother's, and she either has, or is desirous of having, more of the fine lady in her manners and appearance.