“You wouldn’t.” Violet’s voice was closer.

“I don’t believe you should count on that.” She crossed her arms and tapped one foot.

There came a scraping from the other side; then the door cracked open. One tear-stained eye peeped out.

“Oh, my dear.” George pushed the door the rest of the way open and walked in, closing it behind her. “Time to cut line. Whatever possessed you to write to Tony?”

Violet’s lower lip began to tremble. “That man has you in his clutches. He’s beguiled you with his caresses and his carnal wiles.”

Caresses and carnal wiles? George knit her brows. “What do you know about carnal wiles?”

Violet’s eyes widened. “Nothing,” she said much too fast. “Well, only what everybody hears.”

George stared as her younger sister blushed. It always was a problem, trying to lie with fair skin. “Violet,” she said slowly, “is there something you want to tell me?”

Violet let out a squeaking wail and flung herself into George’s arms. Oh, dear.

“There, there, sweet.” She stumbled back—Violet was an inch or two taller—and sat in the cushioned window seat. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”

Violet tried to speak, choked, and cried some more. George rocked her, murmuring the inanities one whispers to a distressed child, and brushed the hair back from her sister’s damp brow.

Violet inhaled, shuddering. “Y-you don’t understand. I’ve done something really awful.” She scrubbed her eyes with a hand. “I . . . I’ve sinned, George!”

George couldn’t help the twitch of her lips—Violet was always so dramatic—but she firmed her mouth at once. “Tell me.”

“I . . . I’ve lain with a man.” The words were indistinct because Violet had buried her head, but George couldn’t mistake them.

She immediately sobered, dread clutching at her throat. “What?” She pried Violet away from her breast. “Look at me. What do you mean?” Perhaps her sister had mistaken the matter somehow; confused an embrace for something more.

Violet raised a ravaged face. “I gave my virginity away to a man. There was blood.”

“Oh, my Lord.” No, not Violet, not her baby sister. George felt tears prick at her own eyes, but she willed them away and framed her sister’s face with her hands. “Did he force you? Did he hurt you?”

“N-no.” Violet choked on a sob. “It’s almost worse. I did it of my own free will. I’m a wanton. A . . . a harlot.” She broke down again and hid her face in George’s skirts.

George stroked her sister’s back and waited and thought. She had to handle this well the first time. When Violet had calmed again, George said, “I don’t think we can go as far as saying that you’re a harlot. I mean, you didn’t take any money, did you?”

Violet shook her head. “Of course—”