This was all that Harriet and Aurelia knew. The latter had been born at the Manor, and young girls, if not brought extremely forward, were treated like children; but Elizabeth, the eldest of the family, who could remember Vienna, was so much the companion and confidante of her father, that she was more on the level of a mother than a sister to her juniors. “Then you think Aurelia’s beau was really Sir Amyas Belamour,” said Harriet, as they sat down to supper. “So it appears,” said Betty, gravely. “Do you think he will come hither, sister? I would give the world to see him,” continued Harriet. “He said something of hoping for better acquaintance,” softly put in Aurelia. “Oh, did he so?” cried Harriet. “For demure as you are, Miss Aura, I fancy you looked a little above the diamond shoe-buckles!” “Fie, Harriet!” exclaimed Betty; “I will not have the child tormented. He ought to come and pay his respects to my father.” “Have you ever seen my Lady?” asked Aurelia. “That have I, Miss Aurelia,” interposed Corporal Palmer, “and a rare piece of beauty she would be, if one could forget the saying ‘handsome is as handsome does.’” “I never knew what she has done,” said Aurelia. “‘Tis a long story,” hastily said Betty, “too long to tell at table. I must make haste to prepare the poultice for my father.” She quickly broke up the supper party, and the two younger sisters repaired to their chamber, both conscious of having been repressed; the one feeling injured, the other rebuked for forwardness and curiosity. The three sisters shared one long low room with a large light closet at each end. One of these was sacred to powder, the other was Betty’s private property. Harriet had a little white bed to herself, Betty and Aurelia nightly climbed into a lofty and solemn structure curtained with ancient figured damask. Each had her own toilette-table and a press for her clothes, where she contrived to stow them in a wonderfully small space. Harriet and Aurelia had divested themselves of their finery before Betty came in, and they assisted her operations, Harriet preferring a complaint that she never would tell them anything. “I have no objection to tell you at fitting times,” said Betty, “but not with Palmer putting in his word. You should have discretion, Harriet.” “The Dean’s servants never speak when they are waiting at table,” said Harriet with a pout. “But I’ll warrant them to hear!” retorted Betty. “And I had rather have our dear old honest corporal than a dozen of those fine lackeys,” said Aurelia. “But you will tell us the story like a good sister, while we brush the powder out of our hair.” They put on powdering gowns, after releasing themselves from the armour of their stays, and were at last at ease, each seated on a wooden chair in the powdering closet, brush in hand, with a cloud of white dust flying round, and the true colour of the hair beginning to appear.