"Well, I'm sure and I'm sure I don't know what folk want with the luggage they carry about with them nowadays-- The old folk didn't. Not Saratoga trunks, anyhow. I remember 'swell as if it was yesterday way back in 1880, when Richard's father and mother were married, old Simon Mascarene--he belonged to your mother's lot, the Mascarenes of Virginia-- He came to the wedding, and all he brought was a carpet-bag. I can see the roses on it still. He wore a beaver hat. They'd been out of fashion for years and years. So was he. Twenty dollars apiece they cost him, and his clothes were the same. Looked like a picture out of Dickens. Your grandmother was there, too, came from Richmond for the wedding, drove here in her own carriage. She and Simon were the last of the Virginia Mascarenes and they looked it. Seems to me some people never can be new nor get away from their ancestors. If you'd dressed Simon in kilts it wouldn't have made any difference, much, he'd still have been Simon Mascarene of Virginia, just as stiff and fine and proud and old-fashioned." "It seems funny that my people should have been the Virginia Mascarenes," said Phyl, "because--because--well, I feel as if my people had always lived here--this feels like home--I don't know what it is, but just as I came into the street outside there I seemed to know it, and this house--" "Why, God bless my soul," said Miss Pinckney, whose eyes had just fallen on the girl's empty cup, "here have I been talking and talking, and you waiting for some more tea. Why didn't you ask, child?--What were you saying? The Virginia Mascarenes-- Oh, they often came here, and your mother knew this house as well as Planters. That was the name of their house in Richmond. But what I can't get over is your likeness to Juliet. She might have been your sister to look at you both--and she dead all these years." "Who was Juliet?"