“Glad you left some cupcakes for other people,” I said, not looking at them as I put one on a dish.

“Where’s the gentleman you were with?” Emma asked.

“You went outside with him,” Elsie said.

I bit into the cupcake and turned to them. “Did I?”

“We saw you. We went to the entrance, too, and we saw you walk off into the gardens. You were holding his hand,” Emma added, as if she was accusing me of murder.

“So that’s what it was,” I said. “I knew there was something in my hand.”

Elsie laughed, but Emma kept her disapproving face.

“So where is he?” she asked more insistently. She could look just like my mother when she twisted her lips like this, I thought.

I leaned toward them as I would to give them a secret. Both leaned toward me.

“I killed him, smothered him with kisses, and left his body in the garden,” I said, and walked off laughing at the expression of shock on both their faces.

I tolerated more than enjoyed the gala after that. My parents’ friends were as dull as usual, and my face felt sore from all the false smiling I had to do. My eyes were continually shifting toward the doorway of the ballroom, hoping Garland Foxworth would reappear, obviously looking for me as well. But he didn’t, and time, which had become annoying for me sitting there and looking as interested as I could in my parents’ and their friends’ discussions about politics and financial matters, seemed to go ever more slowly. A cloud of boredom floated above and around me, so when my father declared it was time to say good night to the Wexlers, I practically leaped to my feet.

“I saw you dancing earlier,” Lucy Wexler said when I and my parents were saying good night, thanking them, and wishing them ten more years. I glanced at my mother, who looked surprised. “You dance well.”

“My first time waltzing,” I said.

“Really? Well, some of us have a natural grace.” She looked at my father. “I believe your daughter does.”

“Thank you, Lucy,” my father said. “I think so, too.”

My mother looked ready to burst a blood vessel at her temple.

“Your gentleman was quite graceful, too. First time you met Mr. Foxworth?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, not sure how I should react to the words Your gentleman.

“Perhaps not the last time,” she replied.

I saw the sly look and smile. Maybe she had hoped to corral the dashing young Mr. Foxworth, or maybe, worse, she already had and was disappointed he had drifted toward someone else so quickly.

“Really, your first time waltzing?” Mr. Wexler asked with a suspicious smile. “I saw you, too. Young women do have their little secrets now and then these days.”