“No doubt you have heard of the London Missionary Society,” he said somberly.

I could feel the blood rush from my face. I had no idea he was one of God’s workers. Uncle Toby held such men in high regard and had taught me the same. “Why, yes.”

He smiled, bowing low. “I am traveling with a husband and wife who seek to become missionaries themselves.”

“Unfortunately, the Tippetts were called away to London and could not join us tonight. And now I shall leave you two alone,” Lady Ransom said, tapping me lightly with her fan. “I am never one to meddle in discussions of the heart or religion, and something tells me that one or the other is about to transpire. If you will excuse me.”

Left alone with Mr. Snowe, I felt the obligation, if not quite the desire, to apologize. And yet he was, I reminded myself, practically a foreigner, which explained his lack of fashion sense. I should at least be forgiving in that regard.

Meanwhile, he said nothing but stared at me until I felt irritation rise anew. “I suppose your travels have kept you away from England for a good many years?” I ventured.

“A great many,” he corrected, as though I had made another grievous error.

“In China alone?”

“Among other places.”

This was certainly awkward. One had to wonder how he could minister to the masses when he could barely speak to a fellow countrywoman except in innuendo or insult. “And these other places are…?” I asked, resisting the urge to tap my foot.

“Miss… Goodrich, was it?” he said. “You need not feel you must entertain me. Sir Henry invited me tonight not for social, but financial reasons. I am here to raise money for my work. Is there a Mr. Goodrich with whom I should speak-your father? Or perhaps your betrothed?”

At least we had lack of forbearance in common! “I fear not, Mr. Snowe. You might, however, find favor with my uncle, Mr. Fitzwater, that white-haired gentleman conversing with Sir Henry.”