"I know," Henrietta replied, as though she had not just crossed a ballroom in order to do exactly that. She made no move to depart. Of course she knew that she shouldn't be talking to him... or at least, they shouldn't talk in public, and it was highly unlikely they'd be afforded any other opportunity. They'd never planned to be alone in the first place, although it had happened twice now, and one of those accidental tête-à-têtes had been what got them into this predicament in the first place. Still, she was reluctant to leave without saying something. There was so much that she had been thinking since the incident at the Sanditon, and she couldn't share it with anyone. She was too afraid to even write it in her journal. He was the only person that she could speak to, and they shouldn't be seen speaking. It was poetic justice, she supposed, but it left her feeling as though she might burst.

"She's been trying to get a hat," Henri blurted out. "To cover up that her head is a little misshapen now. But I don't think she's managed it. Apparently it's fretfully difficult to shop as a ghost."

---