He could read Elsie's urgent look perfectly, possibly because it was exactly what he had been telling himself at that precise moment, too. He shot her a hasty look of wide-eyed apology. She hadn't said a word yet; she would know better how to field this situation. He hoped. Merlin, he hoped.
And Mrs. Cavanaugh couldn't be more than a few years older than the two of them, Tybalt was reasoning mentally, could hardly be more ridiculously sensible than Elsie (usually) was, could not possibly be as damning a judge as Elsie's mother might be... but she was also now giving him the full force of a look that he could only class as Not Amused, and that was enough to give him pause.
"Er, no," Tybalt admitted, although he wasn't sure if he'd sound stupid for it, if it had been meant as a rhetorical question. "Sorry." He scratched sheepishly at the back of his neck, ducking his head slightly to better display this contrition. Was it too late to rescue this and make a good impression? It was too late, wasn't it?
And Mrs. Cavanaugh couldn't be more than a few years older than the two of them, Tybalt was reasoning mentally, could hardly be more ridiculously sensible than Elsie (usually) was, could not possibly be as damning a judge as Elsie's mother might be... but she was also now giving him the full force of a look that he could only class as Not Amused, and that was enough to give him pause.
"Er, no," Tybalt admitted, although he wasn't sure if he'd sound stupid for it, if it had been meant as a rhetorical question. "Sorry." He scratched sheepishly at the back of his neck, ducking his head slightly to better display this contrition. Was it too late to rescue this and make a good impression? It was too late, wasn't it?
