Geraldine’s father had built Larchmont for his wife in 1903; Geraldine, her brother Stuart, and a sister who died young, had been born there. The Chicago American had reported on the gala around the housewarming, where the Taverners, the McCormicks, Armors and other Chicago luminaries had spent a festive evening. The whole story was like one of those period pieces on public television.

Your roving correspondent had to rove with a vengeance to get to the opening of Larchmont Hall, riding the tram to the train and the train to its farthest reaches, where a charabanc obligingly scooped her up along with the men delivering plants, lobsters and all manner else of delightful edibles to adorn the fete. She arrived perforce in advance of the more regal guests and had plenty of time to scope the grounds, where tables and chairs were set up for taking tea alfresco. Dinner, of course, was served in the grand dining room, whose carved walnut table seats thirty.

The tessellated entrance floor took the Italian workers eight months to complete, but it is worth the effort, the green and sienna and palest ecru of the tiles forming a rich yet unobtrusive foretaste of the splendors within. Your correspondent peeped into Mr. Drummond’s study, a most masculine sanctum, redolent of leather, with deep red curtains drawn across the mullioned windows so that the great man isn’t tempted by the beauties of nature to abandon his important tasks.

Of course, the greatest beauty of all is within. Mrs. Matthew Drummond, nee Miss Laura Taverner, was the cynosure of all eyes when she appeared in her embroidered tulle over pale cornflower satin, the gold chiffon tunic edged with rhinestones (from Worth’s own hands, my dears, as Mrs. Drummond’s maid whispered, arrived last week from Paris), with a display of ostrich plumes and diamonds that were the envy of every other lady. Mrs. Michael Taverner, Mrs. Drummond’s sister-in-law, seemed almost to faint with misery when she saw how commonplace her rose charmeuse appeared. Of course, Mrs. Edwards Bayard has a mind above dress, as everyone who has seen that mauve bombazine a thousand times or so could testify-or perhaps her husband’s extra-domestic activities are funded from her clothes budget!

The coy correspondent recounted with a wealth of description the thirteen bedrooms, the billiard room, the music room where Mrs. Drummond’s spectacular performance on the piano held dinner guests spellbound, the ornamental pool lined with blue clay and the three motorcars which Mr. Drummond had installed in the new “garage, as we hear the English are calling the structure for housing these modern conveyances.”

How very modern of old Matthew Drummond. The garage, which loomed to my right, could hold six modern motorcars with room for a machine shop to repair them. Then, as now, vast wealth needed flaunting. How else did others know you had it?

After reading about Larchmont’s wonders, I’d searched various indices, looking for news of Geraldine. I wanted actually to see who Darraugh’s father had been, or what had happened to engender the contempt in Geraldine’s voice when she mentioned him. It was more than idle curiosity: I wanted to know what currents lay beneath my client’s surface so I could avoid falling in them and getting swept away.