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interested in the subject or much of anything else, with the exception of surviving the ordeal and achieving the sanctuary of my own sofa. Winkie was swirling the wine in her glass, apparently content to sit in silence for what might be a very long time. To cover the sound of my rumbling stomach, I asked, “How long have you been the housemother?”
    â€œThree years. After the divorce, I worked in an exclusive dress shop for almost ten years, but then my back began to trouble me and I was forced to give up my job. This position rescued me from a very bleak situation. A year from now I’ll be eligible for social security and a nice pension from a fund established by the National Board. I’ll miss the excitement, but it will be a relief to have my own apartment where I can do as I please. Here, I must admit, I’m basically on duty twenty-four hours a day, supervising the kitchen and custodial staffs, handling deliveries, counseling the girls, attending training and social functions for the campus housemothers, and serving as hostess for the house. There are so many restrictions that I sometimes feel as if I have more rules and regulations than the girls.”
    â€œIndeed.” I artlessly looked at my watch and then at the cat, which, like any sensible creature, had gone tosleep during Winkie’s whiny discourse on her job description.
    She caught the hint and stood up. “Shall we go to the dining room, Claire?”
    I rose with alacrity. “That’s a wonderful idea. I haven’t seen my daughter all afternoon, and while Rebecca was showing me around, she mentioned that Caron was already here and in Pippa’s room.”
    â€œAll the girls are staying in the wing off the lounge. It saves on utilities. During the school year, those rooms are used by the house officers, but with just the four . . .” She stopped to stroke Katie’s head, then led me out to the foyer and paused in front of two portraits of women clutching white cats. The cats had uniformly bulgy eyes, as did one of the women.
    â€œThese are the previous housemothers,” she told me. “The chapter was organized eleven years ago by a group of dedicated alumnae. Muffy was the first housemother, and she stayed nearly seven years. She’s out on parole now and dropped by to visit just last month. Pattycake was here only a year before she decided to find other employment. She wasn’t a Kappa, and the girls did not find her sympathetic. Some of the seniors still remember how detached she was when her first Katie was run down by a garbage truck out back. One of them told me, in the strictest confidence, of course, that Pattycake was never pleased when they dropped by to say good night to Katie or leave little gifts of catnip and squeaky toys.”
    â€œImagine that,” I said, trying not to do so myself as we went through French doors to the dining room.
    Pippa, Rebecca, and Jean leaped to their feet as if we’d brandished automatic weapons, their ubiquitous sorority pins sparkling madly on uniformly pink expanses. Caron glanced curiously at them but kept her seat as Winkie formally introduced them to me, escorted me to a chair, and told them to sit back down. The majesty of the moment ended with the shatter of crockery from behind the kitchen door, followed by the dispirited wail of someone who was not Kappa material.Eyes rolled like loose marbles, but no one was motivated to go to the kitchen and investigate the disaster.
    â€œI’m so excited that Caron’s my new trainee,” Pippa chirped, dimpling at me. “She’s going to make a swell My Beautiful Self consultant, don’t you think? She’s got such motivation, and you’re going to be astounded at how well she does once she starts working the high school market, where there truly is a need. The school colors are purple and gold, so you can imagine what a challenge it’ll be. But I just know she’s