He let out a light, unaffected laugh at her response. "Why, of course." Another dig at him, he supposed - a fair reminder; no one would want to marry him without manners - but one he was not resolved enough to try and amend, not when Elsie would not want to marry him anyway.
Her answer made it sound that she wasn't asking for much (more than him, of course, but not much), but Tybalt doubted if she did not have a strict and extensive checklist for potential suitors. Number One: Is He Minister of Magic, or Could He Be One Day? Number Two: Is His Surname Worth Ten Thousand Galleons? Does It Strike Awe Into Everyone Who Hears It? And so on, and so forth; he leafed through Witch Weekly often enough to imagine it.
He couldn't begrudge her those sorts of ambitions, anyway, even if the American, at least in the eyes of the British magazines, might be something worth having a chip on her shoulder about. As for him, and his many-chip-weighted shoulders, his ambitions did not punch even so high as manners. "Oh, someone who can take a joke," Tyb answered airily, grinning to himself, for really he was the joke. "Maybe someone so wondrously clumsy that they make me look refined," he added, grinning knowingly now at Miss Delaney, sure she would agree of its necessity. He did not mention the abrupt stab in his chest as he mentioned clumsiness, but the grin faded faster than he meant it to, his spirits crashing at the very thought of someone, any abstract someone who was not her.
Her answer made it sound that she wasn't asking for much (more than him, of course, but not much), but Tybalt doubted if she did not have a strict and extensive checklist for potential suitors. Number One: Is He Minister of Magic, or Could He Be One Day? Number Two: Is His Surname Worth Ten Thousand Galleons? Does It Strike Awe Into Everyone Who Hears It? And so on, and so forth; he leafed through Witch Weekly often enough to imagine it.
He couldn't begrudge her those sorts of ambitions, anyway, even if the American, at least in the eyes of the British magazines, might be something worth having a chip on her shoulder about. As for him, and his many-chip-weighted shoulders, his ambitions did not punch even so high as manners. "Oh, someone who can take a joke," Tyb answered airily, grinning to himself, for really he was the joke. "Maybe someone so wondrously clumsy that they make me look refined," he added, grinning knowingly now at Miss Delaney, sure she would agree of its necessity. He did not mention the abrupt stab in his chest as he mentioned clumsiness, but the grin faded faster than he meant it to, his spirits crashing at the very thought of someone, any abstract someone who was not her.
