Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. They arrived at the party shortly after 10:00pm. She sat perfectly still, however. “My dear, can you see in this light? I think I would like to get in. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. .
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