Houses of Stone

took me to Virginia, and my presence there activated animosities that might never have erupted if I hadn't unwittingly acted as a catalyst. Mrs. Fowler wouldn't have dared set the fire if there had not been someone living in the apartment. Destroying the property of someone she detested was an additional incentive, and she believed that, like Peggy, I was a smoker. Cameron's refusal to pay the insurance brought Bobby's resentment to the boiling point . . . The whole intertwined plot had the inevitability if not the dire consequences of a Greek tragedy."

Simon had dissolved into silent laughter. Wiping his eyes he sputtered, "Machiavelli couldn't have done better, my dear. With one stroke you avenged yourself on Meyer and won Dorothea over to your side. You do deserve a prize. We were going to wait until tomorrow to present it, but this seems a more appropriate occasion."

He rose and went into the house. When he came out he was carrying a flat parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

"You aren't giving me Eliza, are you?" Karen asked, deducing the nature of the gift from the shape of the parcel. "Not that I wouldn't appreciate it, but—"

"You hate it," Peggy said calmly. "I want Eliza for myself. She'll look great in the living room. Go ahead, open it."

Karen's hands were shaking with excitement as she untied the string and stripped off the paper. It had to be a picture. If it wasn't Eliza, it could only be ...

The painting had been beautifully restored and set in a simple frame of softly polished walnut. The faces looked out at her, unmarred by filth or flaked paint. They wore matching blue bows and there was a strong family resemblance between them, particularly in the soft brown eyes. They were the most charming pair of King Charles spaniels Karen had ever seen.