"Lady Beatrice grunted and turned to Emma. "Here is your escort, dear." She shook the elderly man's arm and shouted in his ear, "This is Miss Peterson, Mr. Maxwell. You'll be taking her in to dinner." "What? Thinner?" Mr. Maxwell was so bent over, his face was only inches above Emma's bosom. "Sacrilege! Don't take an ounce off 'em, my dear." Emma stepped back before a bit of drool hit her bodice." --