Sophia was sorting through Eden’s summer clothes to give the most soiled ones to Mrs. Williams for the laundry when a thick folded piece of drawing paper fell from some pocket of a jacket.
She smiled to herself and opened it, expecting one of Eden’s sketches. But the style was not one Sophia recognized as Eden’s. And Eden was a prominent figured in it.
It was Decker’s “puppy love” satire.
Sophia’s smile changed to a frown. There was Eden, and there, George, whom Sophia also knew. But the third figure was a mystery. In spite of the comical style of the sketch, it was obvious the girl was beautiful and sophisticated. Her clothes were just in fashion, her hair elaborately dressed and expensive jewels hung from her every available appendage.
And someone—whomever had drawn the picture—was quite certain she was enamored with Eden.
Eden wore a halo in the picture, but it was impossible to say whether the artist believed Eden a saint or believed that Eden thought herself one.
Sophia knew there was no discovering the mystery. She told herself there was really nothing to discover. So many of the rich people Eleanor knew were frivolous and shallow. The drawing probably represented nothing but the fancy of a moment. It was likely to have been of no consequence even to Eden. Though she had kept the sketch, she had certainly forgotten it by now, not having worn the jacket in months.
Sophia would not mention it. She tossed the paper into the fire and didn’t even watch it burn before leaving the room.