And we entered Foxworth Hall. The entryway was well lit, but the lights were low inside. Seemingly out of the shadows, a small woman, perhaps five foot four at most, approached us. She wore a dark-blue dress and black shoes that looked more like men’s. They had a thick heel and sole, probably to add a half inch or so to her height. Nevertheless, I felt like I towered over her. Her plain face told me who she was before Garland had stepped forward to introduce us. She had patches of redness on her cheeks and forehead and dull dark-brown hair pinned back.

“This is Mrs. Steiner,” he said.

Mrs.? I thought. Because of the way he had described her and how she looked, I couldn’t imagine her being married, and if she was, where was her husband? There was no mention of him.

“Mrs. Steiner, Miss Dixon.”

“Good evening,” she said. “Welcome to Foxworth Hall.” She turned to Garland. “I thought you might want a fire in the living room, Mr. Foxworth. It seems a bit chilly tonight.”

“It’s always a bit chilly to you, Mrs. Steiner,” Garland said, smiling. “But thank you. I’m going to be giving Miss Dixon the two-cent tour of Foxworth Hall. The dollar tour will occur in the daytime.”

“Would you like some tea or . . .”

“Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Steiner.”

He turned to Lucas.

“Light some candles for us upstairs, Lucas.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, hurrying ahead.

I gazed up at the high ceiling. Scattered along the walls were portraits of people I assumed were Foxworth ancestors. I was surprised at some, because the men looked so austere, cold, and not at all like Garland. But then I thought they might have wanted that look, believing it made them appear more powerful, authoritative. The women I saw weren’t attractive and weren’t portrayed as happy. Their faces were pinched and tight like the faces of women who had been forced to pose perhaps for hours.

“I’ll introduce you to some of them at a later time,” Garland said, seeing how I was studying some of the paintings. He leaned over, smiling coyly, and said, “I like to tease them. They’re all dying to know who you are.”

“What?”

He laughed, took my hand, and led me to the end of the long foyer, where there was a pair of elegant staircases that wound upward to join a balcony on the second floor. From the balcony, there was a second single staircase rising to another flight. Three giant crystal chandeliers hung from a gilt carved ceiling some forty feet above the floor of mosaic tiles.

“Impressive,” I said in a whisper. Somehow I thought I shouldn’t speak in tones any louder. It was as if I had entered some temple.

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, Corrine.”