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lovely, Mamma,” responded my sister.
    I nodded, for her ideas pleased me. “What about our hair?”
    “Edward wrote that the Bridges ladies will powder theirs for the ball, so we must remember to bring pomatum and powder, Cassandra—we do not want to offend our hosts by appearing less than genteel.”
    “Might I powder my hair for the ball as well?” said I hopefully.
    “Jane!” My mother frowned at me. “You know better than to ask such a question. Hair powdering is a practice in which you may indulge only
after
you come out, and not one day before.”
    I sighed. For nearly a month entire I should be in a circle of very fashionable people, many of whom were only a few years older than myself, but at the most formal event, I should appear like the merest child. Oh well, thought I with resignation, at least we were
going
to Kent, and
that
would be an adventure!
    We followed my mother’s suggestions, adding such embellishments to our gowns as we could devise, so that in due order we all felt some semblance of pride in our wardrobe. A week before our departure, my father returned from Basingstoke with a surprise: he had purchased for each of us a new pair of gloves.
    “You think to spoil us, Mr. Austen,” cried my mother, kissing him soundly.
    Cassandra and I were profuse with our gratitude. He smiled and kissed me on the head, saying, “I could not think of you going with holes in your gloves, Jane.”
    As we made the final preparations for our departure, my mother was in a panic, striving, for my father’s sake, to ensure that all would go smoothly in the household while we were gone; but after spending several days with Martha going over all the particulars, and witnessing that good woman’s skill, experience, and good-humoured attitude in managing such affairs, my mother’s anxieties were soon tamed.
    The last days of busy activity passed away. On an evening in late May, Mr. Knight arrived as promised in his handsome coach, which was sizeable enough to accommodate all our party, and attended by several liveried servants. I had not seen Mr. Knight in many years, but he lived up to my remembrance as a well-dressed man of fifty-six with a kind smile who, although a bit stooped in stature, yet held himself with a regal bearing. According to the fashion, he wore a gracefully-styled, white powdered wig, like my father’s.
    “Such a pleasure to see you, cousin. You are looking very well!” cried he, heartily shaking my father’s hand. After warmly greeting my mother and Charles, he turned to me and Cassandra, saying, “Who are these bewitching young ladies? How you have grown since last we met!” He proclaimed us both to be beauties, an utterance which, had it been made by a youthful rattle, I would have taken as disingenuous; but the look in his eyes was so sincere that I could only blush and laugh.
    We were all delighted with Mr. Knight and passed a pleasant evening in his company, during which he and my parents were engrossed in conversation, going over all the minutiae of our lives during the past several years.
    “From the moment my Catherine saw your son Edward,” said he to my mother and father, “age eleven I think he was, she fell in love with him, and insisted she must have him. I cannot express my gratitude to you both, for your generosity in allowing him to come to us. Since the very first day, he has been the sunshine in our lives.” Here Mr. Knight’s voice broke, and he wiped away a tear. “We count ourselves blessed by his presence.”
    My parents’ eyes welled up as well; and for some time we all were too choked up to speak.
    When my mother and I pressed Mr. Knight for information about Miss Elizabeth Bridges and her family, he only smiled and said she was a lovely young lady, and as for the rest of the Bridgeses, they were so numerous, and he felt so unequal to the task of describing them, that he would leave that information to his wife to impart, once we got to Kent.

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