" I read on. And then it happens. On page 89. Mary is humiliated, and I know I have to step in. There she is, in an ill-fitting, wine-colored gown that doesn't do anything for her mousy complexion, gathering up her music, when I pass by, and spill my glass of punch right on her dress. I turn, and there is Kevin, dressed in a scarlet coat and all the rest of the uniform of a British Soldier, circa 1811. 'What are you doing here?' I ask. 'Well, this...