“Don’t you think it would get boring looking at the same old paintings day after day?” asked George.

“Not necessarily,” said Hannah. “Life changes us. It changes the way we see.”

“In my experience, when a painting changes or moves, it’s usually because there’s someone hiding behind it,” I replied. “And besides, if all art changed over time, how would we ever know what an artist was trying to say?”

“I think art is meant to tell you more about yourself than about the person who made it. But I’m no expert,” Hannah replied.

“My art history teacher used to tell us, ‘Art evokes the mystery without which the world would not exist,’ ” George said. “I thought you’d like that, Nancy. It’s a quote from the painter René Magritte. He was a surrealist, so you know he was a little wacky. But this is all theoretical, anyway. There aren’t any actual paintings for us to look at or get bored of.”

“That’s true. I wonder why … ,” I mused.

Just then we heard people behind us oohing and aahing. I stood and turned just in time to see the crowd parting to make way for a beautiful girl in a shimmering cream-colored gown, her hair twirled up away from her neck and crowned with a futuristic tiara. The girl smiled and waved to her admirers as though she’d been doing it all her life. It took me a moment to realize that the shimmering girl gliding toward us was Bess.

“Cousin, is that you?” George asked in amazement.

“Cousin, is that you?” Bess said, gesturing to George’s spiffy duds.

“Bess, you look like a space princess!” I exclaimed.

“Thank you very much, Nancy!” Bess said. “I had to steam the skirt in the bathroom after that awful ride on Sven’s art cycle. He made me sit on a dirty old tarp because he insisted on keeping the bike covered. He claims he’s waiting for the right moment to reveal his art.”

“Where is Sven, anyway?” I asked.

“He’s preparing for his performance,” said Bess, trying to sound supportive, but unable to keep a note of exasperation from her voice. “He told me he has to meditate in absolute silence. I’m supposed to meet him outside just before the Duchess’s speech. He barely looked at my outfit. I made it myself. The tiara is papier-mâché.”

“Bess, it’s amazing. If he can’t see that, then he’s not worth your time,” I said.

“Hear, hear!” said George. “Now, let’s go see what fancy snacks the Duchess cooked up for us.”

“Finally, someone with sense.” Bess giggled. “I can’t believe you didn’t even try to wear a dress. But I have to admit the tux is pretty awesome.”

“I had to look nice to impress my date!” said George. “I wouldn’t dress up for just anybody.”

“That’s mighty sweet of you, George,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes like a Southern belle.

Bess, George, Hannah, and I made our way past the staircase into the ballroom, arm in arm. The room was cavernous, with a wooden parquet floor and a huge stone fireplace at each end, but with all the guests chatting and eating delicate canapés, it felt almost full. The walls here were full of paintings in heavy gold frames. The high domed ceiling was painted a cerulean blue, with the constellations picked out in gold leaf. A single, enormous crystal chandelier descended from the center of the dome to illuminate the room. The chandelier swayed slightly in an invisible breeze, its cut-glass jewels tinkling.