“No, but it’s an age when a lady should know better.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You should have some sense of propriety by now. You should be more dignified.”

“Dignified!”

Violet slapped the table, making the silverware rattle. “You don’t care what others think about you. You don’t—”

“What are you talking about?” George asked, genuinely confused.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Violet wailed. “It’s not fair. Just because Aunt Clara left you piles of money and land you think you can do anything you want. You never stop to consider those around you and how your actions might affect them.”

“What is the matter with you?” George set down her cup. “I simply don’t believe a tendre I may or may not have is any of your concern.”

“It’s my business when what you do reflects on the family. On me.” Violet stood up so abruptly her teacup overturned. An ugly brown stain started migrating across the tablecloth. “You know very well it isn’t proper to be alone with a man like Mr. Pye, and yet you’re having sordid assignations with him at night.”

“Violet! That’s quite enough.” George was startled at her own anger. She hardly ever raised her voice to her younger sister. Quickly she held out a hand in appeasement, but it was too late.

Violet was beet red and had tears in her eyes. “Fine!” she shouted. “Make a fool of yourself over some baseborn yokel! He’s probably only interested in your money, anyway!” The last words hung horribly in the air.

Violet looked stricken for a moment; then she spun violently and ran out the door.

George pushed her plate aside and laid her head in her arms. It wasn’t a day for kippers after all.

VIOLET POUNDED UP THE STAIRS, her vision blurred. Why, oh why must things change? Why couldn’t everything stay the same? At the top, she turned right, striding as fast as possible in her voluminous skirts. A door ahead of her opened. She tried to duck away but wasn’t quick enough.

“You’re quite flushed, dear. Is something amiss?” Euphie looked at her worriedly, blocking Violet from her own room farther down the corridor.

“I . . . I have a slight headache. I was just going to lie down.” Violet tried a smile.

“How horrible headaches are,” Euphie exclaimed. “I shall send up a maid with a basin of cool water for your brow. Make sure to lay a damp cloth on your forehead and change it every ten minutes. Now, where did I put my powder? It’s very useful for headaches.”

Violet felt like screaming as Euphie went into a dither that looked like it might last for hours.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll be all right if I just lie down.” Violet leaned forward and whispered, “My woman’s flow, you know.”

If anything was likely to stop Euphie, it was mention of women’s matters. She turned bright red and averted her eyes as if Violet was wearing a sign proclaiming her condition.