Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. ’ ‘Fancy my old pa thinking you was a French spy. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. "That's tremendous!" he cried. ” She breathed relief.
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