“Whimsical, that is one way to put it. If I am honest, I have no intention at all to indulge this particular request, although Mr. Travers is convinced he may change my mind. There are quite a few queries that I reject, to the dismay of my clients. You would find some of them very amusing.”

Samuel Griffith had now entered fully into this unexpected conversation. He had of course been tangentially aware of Miss Blackwood as one of the names among the rank of debutantes that were considered the most desirable in society; in possession of wealth, status, and beauty.
Samuel, however, did not share the fascination many men had for debutantes and rarely talked to them. He generally found them to be too chaste and proper to be very interesting, so he was surprised to find himself pleasantly engaged in this conversation.

“It is a widely held belief that Alchemists are busy turning dirt into gold. That is generally possible, but only yields about a galleon worth of gold per day. The prices I quote for my creations are well above that, and I dare say they are more useful.”

Samuel offered one of his cards, a small and simple placard of metal that magically changed its inscription to the place the alchemist resided at, should he be available to accept callers. If he was not, it said so.

“Should you ever require my services, you now know where to find me,” he said and smiled.

Mr. Travers looked at them from across the room with an expression of indignation and jealousy. Samuel did not give one of these to him; the only place Mr. Travers might get hold of him was at his office.

“Now that I have been talking more frankly than I should, how are you enjoying this soiree?” he asked curiously.

“You must visit a great number of these events during the season. Do you tire of them?”