CHAPTER IX.
THE IRISH BEGGAR.
Glanyravon farm was anything but a quiet home during the ensuing week.
Mrs Prothero thought it right to inform her husband of what had passed; and he blustered and raged even more than he had ever done about the Irish beggars.

Everybody thought proper to try to convert Netta, but none of them knew the indomitable obstinacy of her character, and all signally failed.

Even Uncle and Aunt Jonathan had their turn, and drove over on purpose to canvass the matter; but as the elders disagreed upon the various points at issue, it was no wonder that all remained much as it was before the unfortunate meeting we have mentioned.
'For my part,' said Mrs Jonathan Prothero, when all were assembled, except Netta, in family conclave, 'I cannot see so much against the young man after all.

Such a fortune as his is not to be met with every day, and I must say he is very handsome and clever.' Here we must remark that this lady's sentiments had undergone a change, since it had been rumoured that Howel was worth more than a hundred thousand pounds.
'I tell you what it is, ma'am,' roared the farmer, 'if he were worth his weight in gold, he 'ouldn't be a good match for any prudent 'ooman.

To my certain knowledge he drinks and gambles, and he shall never have my consent to marry Netta so long as I live, and you may tell him so.' 'I do not know enough of him, sir, to have any communication of the kind with him,' said Mrs Jonathan, stiffly.
'My dear,' interposed mild Mrs Prothero, 'if he gets steady, and settles down, it might be better to let them marry, than to make them miserable for life.' '_Study_! miserable! mother, you're a--I beg your pardon, but when Howel's study, I'll turn to smoking cigars.