Alfred had scanned over the faces in the room, trying to see if anyone looked familiar, but even the Fisks he'd known during his school years had been so long ago that he wasn't confident he recognized them now. They certainly wouldn't recognize him, with how much his appearance had changed since he'd been shipwrecked and returned. He found Zelda's face, but could only meet her eyes for a moment. This had been a bad idea. He should have told her he was planning to do this, because she would have told him it was a bad idea — she could have told him, at least, not to come tonight. He'd had some sort of vaguely romantic idea that this sort of thing was supposed to be a surprise, but he had a feeling tonight — while almost certainly surprising — wasn't going to end up being a good surprise.

Her father had addressed him and Alfred had no idea what to say. Backing out now was impossible. There was no reasonable excuse he could have for being in their home, and even if he could have thought of something on the spur of the moment it would probably be obvious he was lying — particularly to Zelda. She had to know why he was here, or at least know generally speaking. What would she think of him if he got all the way to her home — all the way to the dining room — and then appeared to change his mind?

Do or die.

"I came to ask your permission to court Miss Zelda Fisk," he blurted.