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the gentleman,
he rarely paid attention to his family except when showing them off
or taking them to various interesting places. Win recognized the
breed. Mr. Richmond’s attitude was fairly universal in this last
great decade of the nineteenth century.
    Win’s own family didn’t fit this mold of
patriarchal indifference. His own father was a physician, and Dr.
Asher paid a lot of affectionate attention to his children of both
sexes. Win loved him dearly for it. Both Win’s brother Carlton and
his sister Victoria were physicians, although it had taken a great
deal of applied pressure to get Victoria admitted to medical
school. She’d ultimately attained her doctorate in France, where
more enlightened attitudes toward female physicians prevailed. Win
himself had begun a course in medical training, but his interest in
photography had subsumed his interest in medicine during his second
year in medical school.
    Although Win had accumulated enough reasons
to appreciate his mother and father before this episode in his
life, his profound appreciation of them was solidified when they
supported his decision to leave school and enter into photography
as a profession. It was perhaps more for his parents’ sake than his
own that he’d worked so hard to become successful in an enterprise
that must have looked like a chancy one, at best, to his parents
when he’d first started out.
    Now, as he strode along the Midway Plaisance
and glanced around at all the marvels on display, he felt on top of
the world. Already his reputation as a splendid and artistic
photographer had spread. If he could talk the Richmonds into
letting him borrow their children and nanny for a series of
photographs, Win knew he’d become famous. He felt it in his gut,
and his gut had never yet lied to him.
    He cast occasional glances at Miss Monroe as
he walked. She seemed more stiff than she’d been when he’d first
glimpsed her among the crowd of fair goers, and when she shot him a
glance once, she instantly averted her gaze. It was as if she
didn’t like him, which was stupid. She didn’t even know him. She
did seem to disapprove of him, however. Maybe she was still holding
his precipitate entry into her life against him. Maybe she was just
a fussy prude. That would be a disappointment, but Win could stand
it. He didn’t want her for herself; he wanted her for her face and
body. He wondered what her first name was.
    “Ah, there it is.”
    Mr. Richmond’s satisfied pronouncement
jerked Win out of his contemplation of Miss Monroe’s lovely face
and form. Lifting his gaze, he espied the Cantina. He’d eaten there
once and had found the food offered therein tasty. “They serve good
food,” he said, opening the door for the ladies before Mr. Richmond
could reach it. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”
    Miss Monroe waited for the Richmonds to
enter the restaurant, then herded the children inside, girl first.
She murmured, “Thank you,” as she sailed past him.
    “You’re quite welcome.” He thought he heard
her sniff, but wasn’t sure.
    # # #
    Belle stared at the menu and wondered what
it all meant. She’d never heard of the things listed on it. Bother.
She hated not knowing things. It was a normal state of affairs for
her these days, however, and she guessed it would be wise to
acknowledge it. Far better to admit ignorance than to pretend and
be found out.
    Naturally, she waited until the Richmonds
had decided on their menu choices, consulted their children, and
consulted Mr. Asher, before offering an opinion. When Mr. Richmond
boomed in his hearty voice, “And what would you like to eat for
luncheon, Miss Monroe?” she said, “I’m not sure what anything is,
actually.”
    Mr. Asher turned his head and stared at her.
She frowned back. It wasn’t her fault she’d never eaten anything
called something-or-other picada before, or a sopapilla . She couldn’t even pronounce that one. Lifting her
chin, she spoke directly to Mr. Asher, who’d said