“You needn’t change,” she said. “You’re perfect. I only ask that you venture outside the bounds of the school before you commit yourself to remaining here forever. Go to the theater or the symphony. Visit the dressmaker. Kiss a handsome fellow.”

Nell’s cheeks went pink. “Really—”

“That you can’t get from books.”

“Nonsense,” Nell replied, still blushing. “Novels hold plenty of kisses. And more if I wish. A girl need only know the right titles, and romance is hers for the taking.”

“Is that enough for you?” Effie asked, taking a seat on the edge of Nell’s bed.

“For now,” Nell replied. Her smiled dimmed. “You could always come back.”

“To be a teacher like you? I don’t know what I could teach that would be of value.”

“English and art. Globes and grammar. Dining etiquette, deportment, defense.”

“Do they all study defense now?” Effie asked. In her day, such classes had been limited to Miss Corvus’s special girls. The ones who had shown themselves to be cleverer than the others, astute with their lessons and skilled at sport, with valiant hearts and independent spirits.

“Miss Corvus determined it essential not long after you left for Paris,” Nell replied. “I confess, I encouraged her in that regard. Every girl should know how to defend herself from encroachments.”

“I thought that’s what our crinolines were for,” Effie said, only partially in jest.

Nell sank down beside Effie on the bed. “Fashion is fleeting, but a well-timed right cross is forever.” She added wryly, “To paraphrase The Oracle of the Ring.”

Effie’s lips tipped in a reluctant smile, recalling the dry text on the history of pugilism that she and Nell had been assigned as girls. “Is it still required reading when one is learning the rudiments of boxing?”

“I should say not. Miss Sparrow prefers application over theory, and it’s she who has taken over teaching defense since Miss Corvus retired from teaching it herself.”

“Gemma Sparrow? Good gracious.”

“I know. She is rather fierce. Miss Corvus thought it best for her to channel her fury.”

“On the younger girls?”

“Don’t be silly. We have a sandbag.”

Effie refrained from comment. She’d been friendly with wild, impetuous Gemma as a girl, but Gemma was too many years younger than Effie for them to be true friends. Effie had preferred keeping her own counsel. For those moments when she’d needed someone to lean on, there had always been Nell.

“Dining etiquette is the only class I remember with any degree of fondness,” Effie said. “And that’s simply because Miss Pascal permitted us to eat the cakes afterward.”