"What is that?" I looked at the box, noting it had been sent from Paris.

"That, my dear Cilla, is a new dress. I'm going out dancing on Saturday. Would you like to see it?"

"Of course!"

Marie opened the box carefully, using a knife from the drawer in her writing desk. Soon she was holding up an exquisite gown of magenta and black, checking to see if it would fit. It seemed to be the perfect size, which satisfied her greatly. At the bottom of the box was a stylish hat, with a couple of large feathers sticking out of the rose bouquet on the side. Altogether, this was one of the loveliest outfits I'd ever seen in San Francisco.

"Perhaps you would like to go to the dance too? How about it, Cilla?" Marie smiled warmly.

"I doubt that I could. What would Brian say?"

"Brian wouldn't need to know. He's in the hospital now, isn't he?"

"How did you know? I thought nobody knew!"

"Oh, sorry. My brother's wife works there in the laundry. She told me."

"I see."

"I'm truly sorry."

What else could she say? Brian's incarceration in the local asylum was public knowledge. I ached, even more than before. Would I ever be able to find friends in the city who did not know of my fate?

"I don't have a dress for dancing," I said, now avoiding the subject of her husband's difficulty.

"No problem! I have dozens!"

Within an hour a suitable dress had been found, and plans made for a night on the town.

"Don't forget now, Saturday evening at six my carriage will be at your hotel to pick you up. See you then!"

Marie winked with a smile on her face as I left the Nob Hill mansion and prepared to walk downtown to my meager room at the Wyoma Hotel.