“An impossible ideal and something you are not likely to have to worry about,” she said. Then she added, “It’s when you make something a little smaller.”

Ditte wasn’t really my aunt, but my real aunt lived in Scotland and had so many children she didn’t have time to spoil me. That’s what Da said. Ditte had no children and lived in Bath with her sister, Beth. She was very busy finding quotations for Dr. Murray and writing her history of England, but she still had time to send me letters and bring me gifts.

“Dr. Murray said you and Beth were proflitic contributors,” I said, with some authority.

“Prolific,” Ditte corrected.

“Is that a nice thing to be?”

“It means we have collected a lot of words and quotations for Dr. Murray’s dictionary, and I’m sure he meant it as a compliment.”

“But you haven’t collected as many as Mr. Thomas Austin. He is far more proflitic than you.”

“Prolific. Yes, he is. I don’t know where he finds the time. Now, let’s get some punch.” Ditte took my good hand and we walked towards the party table.

I followed Ditte into the crowd and became lost in a forest of brown and plaid broadcloth trousers and patterned skirts. Everyone wanted to talk to her, and I made a game of guessing who the trousers belonged to each time we stopped.

“Should it really be included?” I heard one man say. “It’s such an unpleasant word that I feel we should discourage its use.” Ditte’s hand tightened around mine. I didn’t recognise the trousers, so I looked up to see if I would recognise the face, but all I could see was his beard.

“We are not the arbiters of the English language, sir. Our job, surely, is to chronicle, not judge.”

When we finally came to the table under the ash, Ditte poured two glasses of punch and filled a small plate with sandwiches.

“Believe it or not, Esme, I haven’t travelled all this way to talk about words. Let’s find somewhere quiet to sit, then you can tell me how you and your father are getting on.”

I led Ditte to the Scriptorium. When she closed the door behind her, the party went quiet. It was the first time I’d been in the Scriptorium without Da or Dr. Murray or any of the other men. As we stood on the threshold, I felt all the responsibility of introducing Ditte to the pigeon-holes full of words and quotations, to all the old dictionaries and reference books, and to the fascicles, where the words were first published before there were enough for a whole volume. It had taken me a long time to learn how to pronounce fascicle, and I wanted Ditte to hear me say it.