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beauty after all," she said. "You've grown so quickly. I want the best for you."
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    I looked at her closely, unaccustomed to the gentle tone of her voice. Mother bent down suddenly to brush off the bottom of her gown.
    "Look at this dust," she exclaimed. "When I was young, my family had a lovely carriage, and we always rode to tea. We arrived fresh and clean."
    She turned around and swatted the hem of my skirt. The door opened and an Ogilvie maid stared at the backside of my grumbling mother.
    "Ma'am?" she asked.
    Mother stood up hastily.
    "Mrs. William Cook Junior and Miss Matilda Cook are here for tea with Mrs. Ogilvie," she told the maid. "The invitation arrived this morning."
    The maid showed us into a drawing room as large as the entire first floor of the coffee shop. The long windows were covered with shimmering damask curtains. A crystal chandelier hung over a gleaming mahogany table, around which were clustered a half-dozen Chippendale chairs. Very expensive.
    "Lucille, my dear Lucille, how wonderful to see you!" exclaimed Pernilla Ogilvie. She sailed across the room like a man-of-war, showing the brocaded tips of her shoes and layers of lace-trimmed, starched petticoats. Her overpowdered hair left a trail behind her that settled like smoke on the carpet.
    Mother's face sagged as she took in Pernilla's gown of gunpowder gray silk, striped with white and blue. Her
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    hand strayed to a stubborn coffee stain just over her hip.
    "I'm so glad you could come," Pernilla continued. "I'm about to die from lack of company!"
    "Good afternoon, Pernilla. It was very kind of you to invite us. Allow me to present my daughter, Matilda."
    I curtsied slightly, conscious of the few threads barely holding me together.
    "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ma'am," I said.
    "Oh, poor little Matilda. I recall your father well. He was such a handsome man, would have gone far if he had been educated. But it won't do to think about tiresome things today. I declare this has been the worst summer of my life, and I'm counting on you both to lighten my mood."
    She squeezed Mother's arm. Mother gritted her teeth.
    "I'm parched. Let's have tea and I'll tell you all about this wonderful house that Robert built for me." Mrs. Ogilvie rang a tiny bell on the sideboard. "Girls?"
    The Ogilvie daughters, Colette and Jeannine, swept into the room, dressed in matching pink and yellow bombazine gowns, wearing their curled hair piled on top of their heads. I should have let Eliza curl my hair. Dash it all.
    Colette was the oldest. Her skin was as pale as clean ice, and dark circles ringed her eyes. Jeannine's head only came up to my shoulder, but she looked sixteen, at least. Her cheeks shone pink and chubby as a baby pig's.
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    Jeannine whispered something into Colette's ear. Colette closed her eyes briefly, then snapped them open again. I wondered why she was so tired. No doubt exhausted from being waited on hand and foot.
    The mothers sat down first, then Colette and Jeannine flopped carelessly onto the Chippendale chairs. I sat carefully so as not to pop any stitches. After two servants brought in silver trays of rolls and bitesized frosted cakes, Mrs. Ogilvie poured the tea.
    "Colette and Jeannine have just finished lessons with their French tutor," Mrs. Ogilvie said. "Are you studying French, Matilda?"
    Mother jumped in before I could open my mouth. "You know how old-fashioned my father-in-law is, Pernilla. He prohibits French, no matter how much I implore him. You are so fortunate to have an understanding husband. Do your sons study French as well?"
    "Of course. We've had the French ambassador here to dine any number of times."
    While Mrs. Ogilvie recounted what she thought was a hilarious story about "Monsieur L'Ambassadeur," I tried to reach the cake plate. My fingers fell just short. If I stretched all the way across the table, the seam under my arm would split open. Jeannine saw my dilemma, picked up the plate, and passed it in the opposite direction