Well, he was either earnestly forgiving or well-practised at being disarmingly pleasant. Jemima didn’t mind too much which it was: it looked to be an enjoyable five minutes for her. And it wasn’t as though he would recall her by the end of the night, save, embarrassingly, as that overexcited girl. It was almost a pity to put her name to herself, but overexcited was still, Jemima considered, a light adjective compared to most she’d been getting from her peers. “Farley,” she said with a bashful smile, “Jemima Farley. Of Hufflepuff.” She had tried to drop that fact in casually, as though she didn’t know perfectly well he was a former Hufflepuff too. She noticed things.
(She probably shouldn’t notice things so often; the diary debacle ought to have taught her that, really. Better to notice nothing, and avert her eyes from life at all costs!) She also didn’t imagine Mr. Chudley Cannons Keeper meant that he thought her lovely specifically, but Jemima was more than happy to take that nugget of gold and cherish it.
(She probably shouldn’t notice things so often; the diary debacle ought to have taught her that, really. Better to notice nothing, and avert her eyes from life at all costs!) She also didn’t imagine Mr. Chudley Cannons Keeper meant that he thought her lovely specifically, but Jemima was more than happy to take that nugget of gold and cherish it.
