The baroness lifted her lorgnette, and peered through it. “Really, quite the loveliest girl in the room.” Burke, looking in the same direction as the old woman, could only nod. It was true. She was quite the loveliest girl in the room. And it wasn’t just this room, either. It proved true wherever they went. Inevitably, she was always the loveliest girl in the room. “Such grace,” the baroness said. “Such charm. She won’t stay unattached for long, mark my words, Lord Wingate.” As if he didn’t know it. “And you know,” the baroness said, “I can’t help thinking, my lord, that my son, Headley, might be just the right boy for her. To be perfectly honest, you cannot accuse either one of them of being intellectuals. I highly doubt either of them have opened a book since they left school.” Burke threw the woman a startled glance, then realized, with a feeling of ridiculousness, that she had been talking about Isabel, and not Kate Mayhew.
