The large yellow sunflowers on the mid-calf-length white dress she wore perfectly matched her blond hair and seemingly sunny disposition. Her smile was wide and genuine; there was a sweetness about her that was palpable. The young man, named Paul, standing next to her was not so sanguine. He was of medium height and wore a brooding expression along with his khaki slacks, two-tone boat shoes, and pale blue button-down shirt. A maroon cardigan tied loosely around his neck and draped down his back completed his preppy wardrobe. He was handsome in a rough sort of way. By that I mean there was a thickness to his facial features that contributed to what seemed like a perpetual frown. He lacked interest in the others in the drawing room—with the single exception, of course, of the young woman, whose name was Cynthia. With the young couple were an older man wearing a purple silk smoking jacket, and a patrician woman in knee-high riding boots, wide-hipped tan jodhpurs, and a white silk blouse.
