The man wasn't sitting, so Seraphina decided not to either — she leaned against the back of one of the armchairs. She glanced around the side-room. Her debutante-instincts, which were still more accessible than any of the socialite instincts she thought she was supposed to have as a woman in her thirties, had her pleased about the glass door. She had snuck away from parties when she could, when she was herself, but she had not been prepared for sneaking when she got to the bookstore today.

"Seraphina Bythesea," she offered, with another crooked smile, as if they were in on a secret. "I'm looking for the sort of books that are engaging —" she was amused at herself for having used his own word "— but which one cannot discuss at parties. And I hope this means I can ask for your name as well?"