[He lingers there a moment longer, fingers stilling in the coarse fabric of his coat.] Flattering. [There's dissmisiveness to his tone that suggests he isn't charmed by the idea, much as she isn't in turn. Two of a kind.] Though I can't argue with the logic behind it.

[Which is precisely what keeps him from going further, grip lax enough to let his hand fall limp at his side, index finger tapping out one thoughtful little rhythm.] Dinner instead. I'll have the servants come up with something suitable.

[One short pause:] Provided neither your father nor brother would take offense.