* * *
Ginevra dressed me that night, holding my limbs, twisting my body, as she would a rag doll. I readied for one of the fabulous parties given by the Wetmore family at Chateau-sur-Mer, one of the first, one of the finest, cottages of them all. Though I had been there a few years ago for a birthday party for William Wetmore, Senator Wetmore's youngest, I had attended as an “adult.” Mr. Wetmore, a two-term governor of Rhode Island, and now a Senator, was one of the more gracious cottagers, and Chateau-sur-Mer embodied his demeanor. This evening's fete was to honor his daughter Edith's engagement. I had looked forward to the event for weeks. I wanted to be anywhere but there.
“Just do your best to get through night,” Ginevra nattered at me, only a few of the words finding their way into
