“You do,” I said proudly, sticking out a foot for his inspection.

He studied it, then checked the other slipper, his expression sober. “Where did you get these?”

“Flora had them made for me. Solomon said it was a special pink silk that made him think especially of me. Why do you ask?”

“This is Chinese writing on the toes, were you aware?”

“I assumed as much. Solomon said the silk came newly from the Orient.” I twisted my neck to study the symbols from Uncle Toby’s perspective. “Do you know what they mean?”

“I am afraid not. Far be it from me to judge society, but I cannot help but think it will frown upon such foreignness in fashion.”

That was odd. Uncle Toby had never commented negatively on anything I wore. Still, he was so involved in his studies, he scarcely took notice of his own appearance, let alone anyone else’s. “I am sure that Catherine Ransom and all the other ladies will have more to worry about than the slippers on my feet,” I said with a light air.

Uncle Toby raised an eyebrow. “You are not hoping to impress anyone tonight, are you?”

“Why do you ask?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I have been meaning to speak to you of this for a while now, Izzy, but have worked up neither the courage nor the proper words. Perhaps I should best be plain.”

“By all means.” I nodded. Uncle looked quite serious, a rarity for a personal exchange between us. Our conversations, though oftentimes lengthy, were usually limited to scholarly discussions.

“Not all are intended by God for matrimony,” he said.

“Indeed,” I said, wondering why he spoke of himself. Uncle Toby had never wed, preferring to pour all of his affection into his studies-and in raising Freddie and me, of course.

Uncle Toby nodded.

I waited for him to proceed. He looked away, obviously flustered. I continued to wait.

He shifted uncomfortably. I shifted as well, studying the tips of my slippers as though some answer could be found there. At last it dawned on me that Uncle Toby did not intend to say more.