She wanted to be of more help, but she had handed him all the napkins in lieu of daring to pat down his trousers or polish his shoes instead. He would have been well within his rights to be short with her, given the unfortunate projectile aim of her cream-puff-biting and the darkened spots where he had been stained – but he was being forgiving and cheerful instead. (Callista was in a spiralling mood, so – this really only made her feel worse.)

“I don’t believe so,” Callista murmured, glancing down at her gown and her hands to see, and finding nothing... although she was unaware of the dollop of cream that was now smeared at the corner of her mouth and onto her cheek.

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