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My mother was a dreamer; it was all she had. I wish. . . well, perhaps I take after her. Which is not to say that my illusions are shattered! You are still the most desirable woman I’ve set eyes on in years, and I have every intention of returning as soon as may be.” He kissed her and gently disengaged himself. “Sleep well, my lovely. I have a long drive ahead of me.”
~ ~ ~
    Trelenny, feeling reluctantly and belatedly guilty for the way she had treated poor, harmless Cranford the previous day, sat drowsing over his translations of Antoninus. It was remarkable to her how, when she had felt perfectly energetic before beginning her reading, only three pages of the unfamiliar names could make her feel overcome with the greatest lethargy imaginable. She had closed her eyes and her hand had slipped from the page when her mother’s voice recalled her attention.
    “Do you remember Cousin Filkins, Trelenny? I believe he’s actually your father’s second cousin by marriage. You must have met him, oh, perhaps five years ago when he came to visit.”
    “I remember him,” Trelenny said dispiritedly as she stifled a yawn. “He kept telling me that freckles were the outward signs of sin and that if I did a good deed each day they would one by one disappear. I must be the most dastardly sinner, for I have more now than I did at thirteen.”
    “What nonsense! It is no such thing, my dear. Freckles have no relation whatsoever with your soul.”
    “Perhaps I could convince Cranford that they do,” Trelenny said thoughtfully. “Surely such a righteous man would never consider a sinner for a bride.”
    “Trelenny! He is no more righteous than the next, I promise you. Why, I recall his mother telling me the most astonishing stories of the wild oats he was sowing. But pay no heed to me. I’m sure he is a very respectable fellow now and he doesn’t mean to appear straitlaced. Has he scolded you about something?”
    “Humph. He sets himself up as the model of every virtue,” Trelenny said evasively. “Tell me what he did, Mama.”
    “That would be gossiping, my love, and you know I can’t approve of gossip. But I was about to tell you that I have had a letter from Cousin Filkins. And can you imagine, he intends to visit us!”
    “I can imagine.”
    “Not a rushed sort of visit, he says, but a good long stay to renew his old friendship with your Papa.”
    “I might have known.”
    “I wonder why he would come at this time of year?” Mrs. Storwood mused. “He must know that the weather is not at its best now. He should have come in the summer.”
    “He probably wasn’t rolled-up then. Maybe he’s had an execution in his house,” her daughter said hopefully. “I’ve never met anyone with his pockets to let before. Do you suppose he will borrow money from Papa to pay his debts?”
    “Where do you learn these terms? It’s vulgar to talk so, Trelenny, and we have no reason to believe that Cousin Filkins is financially embarrassed. Quite the contrary, in fact. He is. coming post.”
    Trelenny sniffed. “It’s all show, Mama. Probably Papa will have to pay the post boys to ransom him.”
    Mrs. Storwood rubbed her forehead; it was a common gesture she employed when her daughter wove some outrageous tale. Unfortunately she could not, as she wished to do, tell her daughter that Cousin Filkins was not financially embarrassed, because in all likelihood he was. But she had no intention of allowing Trelenny to spread such a rumor about the estate. “I think I will just take a small nap, dear. You’re not expecting Cranford, are you?”
    “Oh, no, you go right along, Mama. Does your head hurt? Shall I bring you something for it?”
    “I only need to rest quietly for a while, dear. Perhaps a dish of tea, but nothing more.”
    When she had seen her mother laid down upon her bed, Trelenny returned to the Winter Parlor, and unenthusiastically picked up her former reading material, but her mind strayed. As though things