Chloe Nash applied the last pin to the twist of her daughter's thick, honey-blonde hair before stepping back to admire her handiwork.

"Part of being a good guest, Angela, is knowing the appropriate time to leave."

"Ruth," She instructed the young woman who stood a little apart, watching, but not taking part in the preparations, "fetch the shawl we purchased in France. I believe it will help enhance the blue of your sister's eyes."

Of course it would, Ruth thought, going to the closet and removing the exquisite lace shawl which had caught their mother's eye on their latest trip abroad. Never mind that it had cost more than the amount of their monthly allowance. Chloe Nash had argued that it was an investment in their future, that everything she bought for Angela must be carefully chosen to accent her many sterling attributes.

"I still think it unfair that I must attend Lizzy Turner's dull little coming out party," Angela bemoaned her fate, glancing at her face in the mirror before applying more blush to her already glowing cheeks. "Ruth is never forced to attend any of these hideously boring affairs."

"You know that Ruth must stay and complete our packing," their mother said, puffing up the young woman's billowing sleeves for greater effect. "Besides, there is young Jamie to consider. It's doubtful he would allow anyone but Ruth to tend him."

As if the child would ever be given the chance, Ruth thought as she handed her mother the shawl. Rarely was her youngest daughter asked to join the dashing Mrs. Nash and her fashionable eldest in their endless round of social engagements. Not that she had any desire to, she assured herself. Not only did she find all the light, nonsensical talk incredibly boring, but she detested the pretense of wealth and position that her mother insisted on maintaining.

"You don't mind, do you, Ruth?" Angela surprised her sister by asking. "I mean, Jamie seemed rather out of sorts earlier today."

"No, of course I don't mind, Angela. Jamie was just a little ill-tempered from missing his nap," Ruth hastened to excuse the bad behavior of the four year old who was, under normal circumstances, very sweet natured. "Besides, it will give me a chance to finish my painting."

"It's too bad we can't afford a more appropriate gift for our host and hostess," Mrs. Nash lamented. "But, since your father died leaving us in such a sorry state of finance, I suppose it's as good as we can do."

"Now, mother, be fair. You know everyone raves over Ruth's paintings." Angela parlayed. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if it weren't the hopes of receiving a piece of her art that kept people opening their doors to us."

"Nonsense!" the woman snapped in anger. "Everyone knows our family background is impeccable. Why shouldn't the more elite of society be honored to house us occasionally? Never berate yourself, Angela."

Apparently she didn't mind berating her youngest daughter, Ruth thought, standing back as Mrs. Nash and Angela donned hat and gloves. It stung sometimes, not to have her mother take more of an interest in her talents. But then, Mother had never shown much interest in anything Ruth did. She had been too busy grooming Angela to pay attention to the quiet, rather ordinary looking daughter who was, perhaps, too much like her staid and sedate father to spark the gregarious woman's interest.

"We shall be back early, Ruth, so that Angela can rest before her trip. You must understand that we are quite fortunate to be summering with Mrs. Wainwright and we must exert every effort to make your sister's visit a successful one."

Ruth knew her mother's definition of success. When they had met Phyllis Wainwright and her great nephew, Stanley Haskins on the ship coming back from their latest trip abroad she had detected the familiar gleam in her mother's eye and anticipated the woman worming an invitation out of the charming, but somewhat aloof, older lady. It was too bad Mrs. Wainwright had given in, Ruth thought, as her mother and sister whisked out of the room. She had liked Mrs. Wainwright. Liked her enough to wish she didn't have to take part in what Ruth knew would be a well planned out and carefully orchestrated scheme to 'catch' the young nephew who, rumor had it, was in line to inherit the Wainwright fortune.

Chloe Nash would need all her manipulating skills to snag young Haskins, Ruth reflected as she begin to clean up after her mother and sister. For, judging from the little she had seen of Stanley, the young man didn't appear the sort who would readily commit himself to anything as serious as marriage, no matter how smitten he had been by Angela's beauty. But then, everyone was taken by Angela, her sister thought, gazing ruefully into the dresser mirror at her own reflection.

One would never suspect that they were sisters, she and Angela. Angela had finely chiseled features, flawless skin and golden hair that shone in the sunlight. She, on the other hand, had plain brown hair with a whisper of red highlights, and a bronze tone to her skin, darkened even more by the many hours she spent in the out of doors, painting. Her eyes weren't wide and blue with dark lashes, but a strange mixture of brown and copper that only her father had ever claimed charming. But father was gone and had been for nearly ten years. Even while alive Grant Nash had spent much of his time away from home, traveling on business, so that there had been few opportunities for him to build the shy girl's self confidence.

Her father was the only person she had ever felt really loved her. He and Jamie. Poor little Jamie. What would become of him if Angela failed to marry into a wealthy family? It was hard enough to bear the burden of being born without a father's name. What if he had to battle poverty as well as disgrace?

Ruth walked across the room and entered the bedroom which she and the young boy had been given to share. He looked up from the table where he had been dressing paper dolls. His round, blue eyes lit up with pleasure when he saw her and his tousled head of reddish blond curls bounced as he sprang from his chair and raced toward her.

"Momma!" he cried. "Momma," he said again and held his chubby arms up toward Ruth.