Button went on for a while about the Ogilvie lineage, fabricating where it suited her and skipping over the less savory bits, such as the fact that Zula Bragg was herself directly descended from both Joshua and John Ogilvie, who had been visionary men when it came to everything but slavery and the persons of their female slaves. It was exactly this kind of talk that had gotten Button Ogilvie written into Sweet-Bitter, the novel that had won Miss Zula the National Book Award.

Karl Bray said, “To be completely fair, Button, you have to remember that Captain Ogilvie had children outside his marriage. Those descendants are here in town, too.” His gaze flickered toward Miss Zula and away again.

Button smiled stiffly. “That’s a theory,” she said. “One without any sound proof.”

The man to Karl’s right cleared his throat. He was twice Karl’s size, with a great slope of belly and jowls like the flaps on a rooster, and he had a deep, resonating voice that almost echoed off the high ceilings. “These days we can prove or refute such claims on the basis of DNA testing.”

“But, Dr. Beasley,” said Button, “why? Why go stirring up all that dusty old history? We need to look forward, and forget this obsession we have with hashing over the past.”

“Such as genealogy,” said John, but while her expression stiffened, she didn’t rise to the bait.

“But his other descendants—” a younger man began, and then stopped when Button turned a glittering glance in his direction. Before she could launch into what John suspected was a set piece, her husband spoke up.

“This is a matter of some delicacy,” he said in his high, breathy voice. “But really, if you don’t allow emotion to cloud the issue, it is quite simple. Outsiders who don’t understand the social nuances sometimes get the idea that we descendants of Joshua Ogilvie are racists, but the truth is, we’re just snobs. Not that the two failings are necessarily mutually exclusive, but they are in this case.”

There was a ripple of vaguely uneasy laughter around the table, and John reminded himself that he had come back here knowing full well that he would be dealing with people like this, who dealt out such casual arrogance like loose change. There were fewer of them around these days, it seemed to him, and of course there was also Zula Bragg, who had never flinched at defending herself.

Miss Zula said, “Mrs. Langley, have you been to the family cemetery on the grounds behind the mansion?”

“Why, no,” said the bank president. “Now that you mention it, I never have.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Zula. “It’s not generally open to the public. But I’m sure Dr. Bray could arrange for you to see it.