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weren’t bad enough, now they had to sustain a visit from the most unappealing man imaginable. Although of considerable girth, Cousin Filkins considered himself of sartorial perfection. Spotted neckcloths and garishly striped waistcoats were his favorite attire, and his conversation consisted of little more than a catalogue of his wardrobe or the fallacies of others’ dress. A self-confessed expert on feminine beauty, he had found fault with Trelenny’s thirteen-year-old figure and her freckled face, producing a platitude to rectify each awkward point. It wouldn’t do to have him about, pinching her cheeks and chucking her under the chin. She had a good mind to write and tell him she thought she was coming down with the scarlet fever, and the only thing that deterred her was a rather superstitious belief that she really might if she told such a lie. Although her father was not particularly fond of Cousin Filkins, he was unswerving in his family loyalties, and, for better or worse, Cousin Filkins was the last surviving relation he had, outside of his wife and daughter.
    With the blasé incisiveness of youth, Trelenny determined that the most expedient solution would be for her father to send Cousin Filkins a supply of money that would enable him to rusticate at some watering hole and make it unnecessary for him to visit Sutton Hall. When she proposed this plan to her father, he regarded her dourly.
    “Have you no sense of family feeling, Trelenny? Do you feel no obligation to anyone but yourself? It is by no means certain that Cousin Filkins is in need of money, and why you should distrust his motives in coming here is beyond me. I haven’t seen my cousin in five years, nor he me. We will have a great deal of reminiscing to do.”
    “But, Papa, he only talks of clothes and you are not the least interested in fashion.”
    “Clothes? Whatever are you saying? Of course he talks of things other than clothes,” her father said exasperatedly.
    “Well, he never spoke of anything else to me. And I think he wears the most appalling outfits I have ever seen.”
    “You are in no position to stand in judgment of your elders, Trelenny. My cousin Filkins is coming to stay with us and I have every intention of enjoying his visit. I don’t wish to hear any more on the matter, and I expect you to behave yourself while he’s here.” Her father made a gesture of dismissal.
    "Yes, Papa.”
    It was difficult to argue with Papa because of his weak heart. Not that he precisely used his infirmity as an excuse to terminate any disagreeable discussion; he would probably have felt his authority sufficient to do so in any case. But there was always the fear of exciting him, and Dr. Moore had said most emphatically that he must never be disturbed by the emotional upheavals to which women were prone to subject men. Trelenny considered Dr. Moore an old fuddy-duddy, but she had herself seen her father suffer a spasm after an emotional scene and she did not wish to repeat the experience. Her Papa was the dearest, kindest man in the world despite his expectation of instant obedience from his daughter, which he seldom got, and he was also very indulgent of her. Clare Ashwicke had never been given the freedom by Viscount Chessels that Trelenny enjoyed under her father’s benevolent reign, so she felt very lucky and found little cause to complain.
    Another idea was forming in Trelenny’s fertile brain. If  Cousin Filkins could not be pensioned off to a watering hole, perhaps she and her mother could go away. The more she thought of it, the more she could see that the plan had distinct possibilities. While Mrs. Storwood would never consider abandoning her husband to his own resources in order to go off gallivanting with her daughter, here was the perfect opportunity to leave him in the care of his own cousin. What could be better? Mr. Storwood had every intention of enjoying his cousin’s visit (he had said so), and Trelenny considered it only