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it don’t signify; I certainly shall not call her Mama; Lord! I would not demean myself to address somebody who was younger than me in such a fashion!”
    While the two sisters were disputing this, Bet declaring that Martha would have to do as her father bade her, and Martha stoutly affirming that she would not, Fanny seized the opportunity to slip upstairs and fetch the rush basket in which she kept her needlework. She had hemmed a set of handkerchiefs and was embroidering them with Thomas’s initials; such a gift, it had been decided by her family, would constitute a suitable offering from bride to groom.
    When she returned to the parlor, the girls seemed to have shifted their ground; they were now arguing about the merits of Petworth as a place of residence.
    â€œI say it’s none so bad,” Bet said shortly. “I saw a pretty-enough-looking haberdasher’s shop as we came through—and a tailor—and a deal of shoe shops. And at least, as it’s such a small place, perhaps Pa won’t object to our walking out on our own; at all events, there’s no sailors here.”
    â€œWell, I know Pa don’t like the town,” said Martha, “for I heard him say, if it weren’t for getting Cousin Juliana’s house at such a low rent, there’s no town in the kingdom where he wouldn’t sooner set up house.”
    â€œHow strange! I wonder why?” remarked Fanny involuntarily.
    Bet said, “Oh, I daresay it’s because it is such a muddy, poky little hole, where he’s not likely to take many men for his impress.”
    â€œNo,” contradicted her sister, “it’s because he don’t care above half for Lord Egremont, up at Petworth House.”
    â€œLa! Why ever not?” demanded Bet.
    Martha glanced toward the door and said in a lower tone, “Lord Egremont has only mistresses, not a proper wife! And I believe one of them lived in this very house , at one time, before our cousin had it. She was a French lady, and Lord Egremont built the house for her, and she died of a putrid fever.”
    â€œWho told you that?”
    â€œKate. She heard it from the chimney sweep.”
    â€œBut anyway,” objected Bet, “what’s Lord Egremont to Pa? He hardly ever mixes with the gentry, wherever we are. Nobody wants to meet an impress officer.”
    Both sisters fell into a silence of depression, considering this unpalatable truth. But then Martha said stoutly:
    â€œBut still, our cousin Juliana was a friend of Lord Egremont, so perhaps he will come to call.”
    â€œI daresay Pa won’t allow us to see him.”
    To turn the conversation, Fanny inquired, “Tell me about your cousin Juliana. Did you know her well?”
    â€œLa, no! She’s gone abroad. We never met her,” Bet replied in her flat way. But Martha cried out:
    â€œShe was a monstrous pretty girl, though! That’s her miniature, over the pianoforte. And she had all manner of adventures in the French Revolution—they were going to cut off her head, but she floated over to England in an air balloon—and she married a Dutch count—and was left a whole heap of money by a rich old nabob uncle in India who was no better than he should be. So that was why she wrote to Pa—”
    â€œThe uncle was not in India, Martha—he had come back and died in England.”
    â€œWell, what does it matter where he died? Pray don’t be so particular!” exclaimed Martha impatiently. “Then Cousin Juliana was given this house by the French lady who died—so she offered it to Pa to live in while she was abroad—”
    â€œDid she share her fortune with any other relations?” inquired Fanny, fascinated by this prodigal generosity which (she was obliged to admit to herself) seemed a characteristic wholly lacking in Juliana Paget’s cousin Thomas.
    â€œYes, I believe she writ to an old lady cousin in Bath—but