"I don't think they meant to be cruel."

"Believe what you will, but I know Emma well enough to see her game. She doesn't like being one of the last of us to marry. But she'll be engaged before long, and woe to the poor man she accepts. He'll find no happiness in his bride."

"You really aren't yourself, Emily. Do you need more tea?"

"No, Ivy, I'm fine. I have just realized that I am now in a position to voice opinions that would have been outrageous for an unmarried woman. Don't worry, I'll send perfect notes apologizing for my behavior and beg them both to forgive me. No one can resist a grief-stricken widow."

"You are awful."

"I think I'm going to rather enjoy sitting with the other widows at balls, machinating the futures of young ladies and gossiping excessively."

"When you return fully to society, I don't imagine you'll stay with the other widows."

"Perhaps you are right, but I do not intend to relinquish my newfound freedom in the foreseeable future. What were we discussing before those harpies interrupted us? I'm sure it was much more pleasant than our present topic of conversation. Did I tell you that I've started to read the Iliad?"

"No, you hadn't. How terribly clever you're becoming," Ivy said, laughing. "But in all seriousness, Em, is what you said true?"

"Everything I say is true."

"I mean about what Philip told you," she pressed, unable to meet my eyes.

"It is true, Ivy. Now that I think about it, I should perhaps have listened better when Philip talked to me. He gave very good advice."

That night I dreamed about Philip for the first time. He looked very lovely, right off a Greek vase. He was storming the walls of Troy, his sandy hair blowing in the wind as he called out, "Kallista! Kallista!"

The next morning I decided that I would definitely continue reading Homer.