He knew some of the Tarletons; but it was a widely scattered family, its members living in almost every colony in America.
The crest he recognized at a glance by the dragon on the helmet with three stars.

It was not for a woman to bear; but doubtless it had been enameled on the locket merely as a family mark, as was often done in America.
"The black woman was your nurse, your mammy," he said.

"I know by that and by your prayer in English, as well as by your locket, that you are of a good old family." Like most Southerners, he had strong faith in genealogy, and he held at his tongue's tip the names of all the old families.

The Carters, the Blairs, the Fitzhughs, the Hansons, the Randolphs, the Lees, the Ludwells, the Joneses, the Beverleys, the Tarletons--a whole catalogue of them stretched back in his memory.

He knew the coat of arms displayed by each house.