“Me? Visit orphans?” exclaimed Miss Millie, horrified. She had peach-pink cheeks and a tumble of gleaming golden curls. Many claimed that Miss Millicent Munsterberg looked just like an angel, but then they’d never observed her curling her lip at the prospect of spending time with orphaned children.

“Oh, I doubt the orphans would care to suffer your company, either, young lady,” grumbled the man seated on her left. He had pale skin, restless gray eyes, a silly dark mustache, and a forehead so large that Miss Millie felt he should apologize for it.

“I beg your pardon,” Miss Millie said.

“I’m sure you do not,” said the man, whose name Miss Millie had forgotten almost immediately after he’d introduced himself. Earlier in the evening, he’d been babbling some nonsense about ravens, and about how sometimes he was awakened at night by the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. Miss Millie thought he was quite mad.

But that could have been said about any one of the people at the table, including their hosts, the infamous Morningstarr twins. Miss Millie could not understand why two doddering old fools were the objects of such fascination. Why, Mr. Theodore Morningstarr, in an uproar over the upcoming presidential election, banged his fists on the table so hard his roast quail hopped off his plate and into his lap. And Miss Theresa Morningstarr clearly paid no attention to the current fashion at all, with the graying tower of her hair listing precariously to the left and her gown sagging on her tall, thin frame. Here she was, one of the richest women in America, and the only jewelry she wore was a tarnished old locket on a chain around her neck. Where were her diamonds? Where were her rubies and emeralds and gold? Miss Millie’s own mother was positively dripping in jewelry, but no one so much as glanced at Mrs. Munsterberg’s sparkling rings or bracelets. What good was being rich if you couldn’t be bothered to show it off? What good was being rich if people refused to admire you for it?

But perhaps the Morningstarrs weren’t so rich as they pretended. Miss Millie knew many families who weren’t so rich as they pretended. (The biggest cocktail ring her mother wore was made of paste.)

“Millicent!” hissed her mother.

“Oh, what now?” said Miss Millie. Her mother had been so peevish since her thirty-fourth birthday the week before, when Millie had given her a cane as a joke.

“I was saying,” said her mother through gritted teeth, “that perhaps Miss Morningstarr might excuse you from the table so that you can take in some fresh air, as it seems you don’t have much of an appetite?” Mrs. Munsterberg looked around at the assembled guests. “She’s been ill lately.”

“I haven’t been—” Miss Millie began, but snapped her mouth shut at her mother’s warning frown.