“You could try a twist in back,” Lila suggested to Nora.

“A French twist!” Nora cried, aghast at the idea. “Your mother would never allow it. Girls of sixteen don’t wear their hair like that.”

“Seventeen in two months,” Lila objected with a pout.

“What if I tie it at the nape of your neck with a blue ribbon?” Nora said. “It’s not quite as girlish as a braid.”

Lila considered this alternative before nodding her consent. “That would be better, I suppose,” she allowed.

When Nora had finished brushing and tying the ponytail in place, Lila stood in front of her dressing room mirror. The white linen dropped waist frock she wore completely obliterated any sign of her developing curves. She tugged at the collar so at least a bit of collarbone was revealed. “Hopeless,” she murmured.

“Oh, I wouldn’t fret,” Nora said consolingly. “I’m sure the Fitzhugh twins will like you as much as we all do.”

“And pay about as much attention to me as everyone around here does, also,” Lila sulked. “It’s as though I’m neither fish nor foul—not a child and not an adult. Sometimes I feel like a ghost—invisible and completely—”

Lila cut herself short as the sound of a motorcar approached, its engine growing ever noisier on the road in front of the manor. “It’s them!” Lila shouted, rushing to the window. Pushing aside the curtain, she peered down at the gleaming red vehicle. Its open top revealed a young man and woman in the front seat. The woman in the front passenger seat wore a fur-trimmed knit sweater. Her sleek finger-curls were swept back in a twisting chignon that elegantly spanned the nape of her neck. Jeweled bracelets were piled up both arms.