Radcliffe, sat on my shoulder all the next morning, whispering clever words into my ear. My composition was usually more inspired after a successful social outing. The time flew by and before I knew it, Isabel was tapping at the door. We were on close enough terms by then that I invited her into my bedchamber while I made my toilette for the outing. She still wore traces of last night’s exhilaration. It seemed a shame to bring her down from such ecstatic heights, but it had to be done. “Do hurry, Emma,” she said, drawing out her watch and glancing at it. Keeping all censure from my voice to tempt her into confession, I inquired, “Have you arranged to meet Lord Ronald this afternoon, Isabel?” Her answer was a soft sigh. “Yes, at three-thirty.” “Why did you not ask him to call on you?” “Oh, Auntie would not care for that! She feels he is not at all the thing.” “Then it is a great pity she invited him to her drum.” “She could hardly omit him when he was staying with his aunt, who is one of her bosom bows.”
