“Not Tobias Fitzwater?” His eyes gleamed. “The Oxford dean?”

“He is a dean, yes. You have heard of Uncle Toby?”

“Indeed I had hoped to speak with him, as he was a major reason for my visit to Oxford. I understand that he has an interest in Oriental studies.”

Perhaps that explained why Uncle Toby had recognized the language on my slippers, if not its meaning. “I did not know that about my uncle,” I said, vexed that Mr. Snowe knew anything about Uncle Toby. “Have you perhaps mistaken him for someone else?”

He pursed his lips. “Tobias Fitzwater is the dean of Christ Church, is he not?”

I nodded. How did he know this?

“And he has been at Oxford for, oh, thirty years now, yes?”

I nodded again.

Mr. Snowe shifted. “What I fail to understand, however, is how you fit into the picture.”

“And which picture is that?” I replied, blinking in what I hoped was the manner of all innocence.

For a moment it seemed that his face darkened, then inexplicably brightened. “Forgive me for nattering on so, Miss Goodrich. Would you be so kind as to introduce me to your uncle?”

“I should be quite at a loss without your company,” I said. “But follow me.”

I did not wait for a reply but sallied forth across the room. I could not be rid of Phineas Snowe any too soon. I was only sorry that I would be handing him over to Uncle Toby, who was far too kind.

Be kind yourself, Isabella. He is a missionary. Be charitable.

I drew a deep breath as we approached Uncle Toby, who was just finishing a conversation with Sir Henry. Our host bowed, excused himself, and left us alone.

“And who is this?” Uncle Toby smiled in the stranger’s direction.

“Phineas Snowe, sir.” He bowed. “But you need no introduction, Mr. Fitzwater. I feel I am acquainted with you already.”

Uncle Toby bowed, looking at me curiously, as though I could explain this peculiar man’s ways. “He is visiting from China,” I said and watched in revulsion as Snowe sidled closer to my beloved uncle. Odious man! “Obsequious” must surely have been his original Christian name.