To my distaste, Uncle Toby’s face brightened. “Ah, yes, the missionary. Sir Henry told me about you. You are here to-”

“To endeavor to raise funds that we might spread the Good News among the heathens in China,” Snowe said, reaching into his coat pocket. “In fact, I brought along this newly translated account of the Gospel According to St. Luke. I believe you have heard of Robert Morrison?”

“Yes, yes. Quite,” Uncle Toby said, putting on his spectacles and accepting the volume. He flipped through it carefully. “Unfortunately, I do not read Chinese, but I am sure that it is a faithful translation.”

“You may be certain,” Snowe said, smiling from one side of his mouth.

“Izzy, did you look at this?” Uncle Toby asked, handing the volume to me.

Snowe smirked as I accepted it. I felt my cheeks flush. “I do not read Chinese either,” I said, pretending humility that I did not feel.

“I would not expect you to.”

“Isabella is quite accomplished in other languages, however,” Uncle Toby said, “and I have no doubt that given time, she could learn Chinese as well.”

Snowe laughed until the spectacles slid down his nose. He pushed them up again, still chuckling. “Forgive me, but it is a very difficult language. I doubt that it could be acquired by even a woman who wore it on her best slippers.”

Uncle Toby had been right that someone would notice. I had had no notion that it would be a man. How embarrassing!

Uncle Toby looked interested. “Would you please be so kind as to translate for us, Snowe? Isabella and I were discussing those very symbols today.”

“Not at all.” He turned to me. “If you will hold out one of your feet.”