She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. It was from Brendon. He will say who it was. ” She found her muscles a-tremble. Her personal maidservant, the first she had ever had in her life, was joyful for her. Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table.
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