Miss Jennings folded the newspaper down and looked at him with concern, and Don Juan felt immediately conspicuous. He glanced around the table to see whether anyone else was looking at him that way before deciding how to respond, puffing his cheeks out and raising his eyebrows while he considered.

"Oh, no," he decided. Miss Jennings was the only one who looked concerned — or at least she looked the most concerned, which perhaps wasn't a surprise. His family were used to tuning out most of his antics, unless they were the sort that would get them disinvited from society parties for the subsequent weeks. If his name wasn't in the headline of the paper, they probably didn't want to bother themselves taking notice. "No, not like that. It's fine. I'm fine. I think." He'd spent the past two weeks throwing up at least once every two days, but if it had an explanation, then it wasn't like he was sick. He supposed now that he had a theory he could test it by taking a bite of the pastry, but probably no one would thank him for it if he ended up losing the pastry on the table or into his napkin while they were all eating. Maybe better to test the theory a little closer to a washroom, just in case.

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