Tom Bertram had spent so little of his time at home that he could be only nominally missed. Lady Bertram was soon astonished to find how very well they did even without his father, how well Edmund could supply his place in carving, talking to the steward, writing to the attorney, settling with the servants, directing the placement of Egyptian crates, and equally saving her from all possible fatigue or exertion in every particular but that of directing her letters.

The earliest intelligence of the travellers’ safe arrival at Antigua, after a favourable voyage, was received; though not before Mrs. Norris had indulged in very dreadful fears, even without a pending full moon, and tried to make Edmund participate in them whenever she could get him alone. As she depended on being the first person made acquainted with any fatal catastrophe, she had already arranged the manner of breaking it to all the others. However, Sir Thomas’s assurances of their both being alive and well made it necessary to set aside her agitation and affectionate preparatory speeches for a while.

While the crated mummies continued lying dormant every which way underfoot, the winter came and passed without their being called for—the speeches, that is, not mummies. The accounts continued perfectly good; and Mrs. Norris, in promoting gaieties for her nieces, assisting their toilets, displaying their accomplishments, and looking about for their future husbands, had so much to do (in addition to interfering in her sister’s affairs, and overlooking Mrs. Grant’s wastefulness), that it left her very little occasion to be occupied in fears for the absent.

The Miss Bertrams were now fully established among the belles of the area. Joined to beauty and brilliant acquirements was a naturally easy, civil manner, so that they possessed the neighborhood’s favour and admiration (as well as its grand total share of mummified long-dead Egyptians). Their vanity was in such good order that they seemed quite free from it. They gave themselves no airs; while the praises attending such behaviour, coming from their aunt, served to strengthen them in believing they had no faults.

Lady Bertram did not go into public with her daughters. On the surface, she was too indolent even to accept a mother’s gratification in witnessing their success at the expense of any personal trouble. In reality she was in the process of accelerating her Egyptological endeavors to a fever pitch, readying all things for a Momentous Occasion. Thus, the charge was made over to her sister.

Mrs. Norris desired nothing better than a post of such honourable representation. She thoroughly relished the means it afforded her of mixing in society without having horses to hire or dealing with any more sorting of papyrus and tablets and—to be honest—quite infernal beast-headed statuary: infernal indeed, and decidedly non-lupine.