It isn’t. Her sister’s words were true. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death. Mischief bubbled up in her. All the rest of our lives would be together then, Ann Veronica. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. John said nothing. " "What'll it cost to have you all to myself for the day?" Ah Cum named the sum. ” Suppose she were to add, “I am going away!” “I’m glad to hear you say it,” said Mr.
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