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house with interest, but with little to say. Maybe she, like Colette, had been burning up inside with envy? But if Mallory was really going to be her friend . . .
    Phoebe said, “I just remembered something from a few years ago. When Colette and I were first—well, friends. If you can call it that.” She related the incident.
    â€œSo you took care of Colette? Dried her tears and said there, there?” said Mallory. She had sat down on the chair next to Phoebe’s. “You took care of her, even though she’d just insulted you?”
    â€œI did. Yes.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Phoebe knew the answer. She had thought about it. She had talked about it with her friend Benjamin. “She made me feel ashamed. Of—” Phoebe waved a hand at the room.
    â€œOf having so much,” said Mallory.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œColette doesn’t seem to me to be in any need,” observed Mallory. “Am I wrong?” She smiled a twisted smile. “Did you go home with her and find that her mother was a wreck and she was the only one taking care of things?”
    Phoebe met Mallory’s gaze and smiled back awkwardly. “No. Colette’s home is fine. Her parents are lawyers. She has everything she wants. Including two adorable little twin sisters, by the way. But her life isn’t, well, you know.” She waved a hand again.
    â€œIt’s not like this.”
    â€œRight. And, like I said, it made me ashamed.”
    Mallory tilted her head to the side. “Did she make you feel like you’d rather be more like her? Not be a Rothschild, not have everything else that goes with it?” She leaned toward Phoebe. “Would you rather be regular and ordinary?”
    â€œAt that moment I felt that way.”
    â€œBut you don’t feel that way now? You’re over it?”
    Phoebe nibbled thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. “It’s complicated. I’m not a princess type. At all! You don’t know me yet, but believe me. And my dad is a regular person. But when your family is like mine, I guess nobody in it can be regular in the, uh, regular way.” She paused. “Also, my mother is amazing. She’d be amazing even without being a Rothschild. She’s just so brilliant. You’ve only just met her, but—”
    â€œI have an idea. Just from tonight.”
    â€œYes. I wanted to fit in with Colette and the others, for a while there. But now you’re my friend, right? I don’t have to care about them anymore.” She was suddenly aware that she sounded a little . . . well, needy.
    Was she buying friendship, again? Was that what had happened with Colette? Was that what was happening here too? Phoebe wasn’t sure. She hunched her shoulders. Maybe she would call Benjamin tonight . . .
    She looked warily at Mallory. Mallory was smiling, but her eyes were sad.
    â€œI am your friend,” Mallory said. “I want to be, and I am. And so, as your friend, let me tell you something important. It’s that you decided to get out of that bad friendship with Colette by yourself. I just happened to come along to make it easier. But you could have done it alone if you had to. And you would have. Right?”
    â€œI wanted to. I—I’m not sure I would have actually gone through with it.”
    â€œYou would have.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    An awkward silence came over the girls. Mallory got up and wandered around the room, finally coming to a stop at the wall next to the stone fireplace, where a portrait from the nineteenth century hung. It showed the upper torso of a man in a white shirt and black coat. He was bald with fluffy tufts of gray hair sticking out on either side of his head and had the kind of expression that was impossible to read. “Who’s this?” Mallory asked.
    â€œOh. He’s a Rothschild ancestor. That’s a copy, actually, not an original painting.”
    Mallory came to attention.