The exhibit was on indigenous ritual practices of the Americas—not Wystan Pomfrey's usual area of interest. Attending, however, served to remind people of his existance, and as a healer who worked privately, such advertising was far more desirable than the indignity of placing a notice in The Daily Prophet. Besides, there was always the chance there would be something interesting regarding medicine; 'old' practices of the 'new' world so rarely saw scholarly publication.

Stan was examining a wooden staff—"Imbued with symbols and charms for the curing of sickness", the placard read, though to the wizard's dark eyes, it looked no more remarkable than the case in which it rested—when he saw her, his breath catching. It was not a dissimilar experience to observing one's fancy enter a room, save for the wave of guilt that accompanied it: the physician felt uneasy because, in his mind, he had failed.

"Miss Alardice," the wizard greeted once she was close enough that it would not be odd to do so. "You look well today."

No signs of her indiscretion were yet visible, and the debutante did not appear to be facing the worst ravages of sickness common to the early stages of pregancy.