The question from the Minister's wife rattled him, and it showed on his face. I don't even know how to break a dress, he thought a little desperately, but at least his brain was working well enough to prevent himself from saying that. It would have sounded like nonsense, anyway, and I'm not actually very suave or anything was hardly a fitting defense to someone who thought he'd been in the middle of undressing a young woman.
At least she seemed inclined to defend him. This was probably good, as he hadn't had the presence of mind to come up with a decent defense for himself on the spot, but he wished very much they'd had a second to get their stories straight before the Minister's wife had entered. He oughtn't to have wasted time asking whether the door was locked (particularly since the lock had entirely failed to slow her down), he ought to have spent the time making up and communicating an excuse to her, or just pulled her back through the floo so that they were at least out of danger of being spotted, or — literally anything more useful than just freezing up and waiting for the worst to happen.
It seemed to be his turn to do his part now; she had drifted off mid-sentence and thrown him a pleading look. Right — what was he supposed to say?
"— getting her, uh," he sputtered; he had started trying to explain what he had been doing to help but stalled out on the word corset; it seemed like the sort of thing he maybe shouldn't admit to out loud, for all that it was probably quite obvious to Mrs. Dempsey. "— helping, yes. I was trying to help her get back to the party."
At least she seemed inclined to defend him. This was probably good, as he hadn't had the presence of mind to come up with a decent defense for himself on the spot, but he wished very much they'd had a second to get their stories straight before the Minister's wife had entered. He oughtn't to have wasted time asking whether the door was locked (particularly since the lock had entirely failed to slow her down), he ought to have spent the time making up and communicating an excuse to her, or just pulled her back through the floo so that they were at least out of danger of being spotted, or — literally anything more useful than just freezing up and waiting for the worst to happen.
It seemed to be his turn to do his part now; she had drifted off mid-sentence and thrown him a pleading look. Right — what was he supposed to say?
"— getting her, uh," he sputtered; he had started trying to explain what he had been doing to help but stalled out on the word corset; it seemed like the sort of thing he maybe shouldn't admit to out loud, for all that it was probably quite obvious to Mrs. Dempsey. "— helping, yes. I was trying to help her get back to the party."
Set by Lady!