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"Oh dear, dear," Mrs. Penny said. "Please don't say anything like that to Mrs. Clairborne. And whatever you do, don't mention the Civil War."

"I'll see," Gisselle replied, enjoying her hold over our worried housemother.

"Anyway," she continued, catching her breath, "many of the furnishings, such as the armoires, predate the Civil War. The gardens, as you will soon see, are modeled after the French style of the seventeenth century, with marble statues imported from Italy."

A few minutes later we arrived at the entrance to the Clairborne estate, and Mrs. Penny continued in her role as tour guide.

"Look at the magnolias and the old oaks," she pointed out. "Over there, behind that barn, are the family burial grounds. See the iron-grillwork fence shaded by the old oaks.

"All of the bookcases inside were hand-made in France. You'll see that most of the windows have brocaded draperies covering rose-point lace curtains and hand-painted linen shades. We will be having tea in one of the pretty sitting rooms. Perhaps you'll have a chance to see the ballroom."

"Is it ever used?" Gisselle asked.

"Not anymore, dear, no."

"What a waste," she said, but even she was impressed with the size of the mansion.

The enormous two-story structure had grand Doric columns with an upper-level galerie that wrapped around the house. Atop the second story was a glass-windowed belvedere. The west side of the house looked darker, probably because of the huge willow trees whose branches hung as though weighted, casting long, deep shadows over the plastered brick walls and dormer windows.

As soon as we drove up the front door opened, and a tall, lean black man with snow-white hair appeared in the entrance. He was bent forward so that his head projected unbecomingly, making him seem to be climbing hills even while standing-.in a doorway.

"That's Otis, the Clairborne butler," Mrs. Penny said quickly. "He's been with the Clairbornes for over fifty years."

"Looks like he's been here more like a hundred years," Gisselle quipped.

We got out, and Buck moved around quickly to take out Gisselle's chair. She waited in happy anticipation as he came around to lift her out of the car and place her gently into the chair. Fortunately there were only a few steps up to the portico, something Buck was able to navigate easily. After he had delivered Gisselle in her chair to the front door, he returned to our car.

"Why can't Buck come inside too?" Gisselle asked.

"Oh no, dear," Mrs. Penny said, shaking her head and smiling as if Gisselle had suggested the funniest thing. "This tea is only for new girls today. Mrs. Clairborne sees you in small groups all month."

"Mr. Mud," Gisselle muttered at me. "You'd better tell me how you know him."

I pretended not to hear her as I pushed her chair through the entryway. Otis nodded and greeted Mrs. Penny. Once inside, Mrs. Penny reduced her voice to a whisper as if we had walked into a church or famous museum.

"All of the rooms are furnished with French antiques, and as you will see, all have deep purple divans with scrolled walnut frames."

The marble floors were waxed like glass. In fact, everything from the antique tables and chairs to the statues and walls shone. If there was any dust in here it was hidden under the rugs, I thought, but I noticed that whoever was responsible for the winding of the hickory grandfather clock just inside the entrance hadn't done so, and it was stopped at five after two.

The spacious and airy rooms on the first floor all opened to the central hallway. Mrs. Penny explained that the kitchen was in the rear of the house. About halfway in was the gracefully curved stairway, with its polished mahogany balustrade and marble steps. Above us in the hallway, grand chandeliers were lit and sparkled like drops of ice. In fact, despite its tapestries, its paintings, its great drapes and velvet furniture, there was something cold about the mansion. Even though the Clairbornes had lived here for a long time it lacked the warmth and personality that a family usually imparted to a home. Why, it felt like a cold museum. The pieces looked like things amassed, collected for their value only, and the immaculate condition and appearance of everything around us gave me the impression that these were unused things, things only for show, a home on display, but not a home in which people really loved and lived.

We were brought to a sitting room on the right, where we found a velvet sofa and a matching settee arranged to face a high-backed deep blue velvet chair embroidered with gold, its dark walnut arms and legs scrolled with hand-carved designs. It looked like a throne set atop a large Persian rug. The remainder of the floor was uncovered blond hardwood.

Between the chair and the settees and sofas was a long matching walnut table.

After Abby and I took our places on the settee and Gisselle was wheeled in beside us, I had a chance to gaze around at the scenic wallpaper and the framed oil paintings of various scenes on the sugar plantation. On the mantel was another stopped clock with its hands pointing to five after two. Above that was a portrait painting of a distinguished-looking man who had been captured slightly turned and peering down, giving the impression he was someone royal.

Suddenly we heard the definite tap, tap, tapping of a cane on the marble hallway floor. Mrs. Penny, who had been standing near the doorway,

remembered something and hurried back to us.

"I forgot to tell you, girls. When Mrs. Clairborne enters, please stand," she said.

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Gisselle snapped.

"Oh, you're excused, of course, dear," she said. Before Gisselle could say anything else, all eyes turned toward the doorway for Mrs. Clairborne's entrance, and then Abby and I rose.

She paused in the doorway, as if waiting to have her picture taken, and gazed over us, moving slowly from Abby to me and then to Gisselle. Mrs. Clairborne looked taller and stouter than she did in any of the portraits around the school. Also, none of the portraits depicted her with the bluing in her gray hair that now looked thinner and shorter, barely reaching the middle of her ears in length. She wore a dark blue silk dress with a wide collar, buttoned to the base of her throat. Hanging on a silver chain was a pocket watch encased in silver, the small hands frozen at five after two.