She seemed sincere. How utterly peculiar.

Ernest certainly wasn't opposed to continuing their interactions or deepening their acquaintance (at least, not any more so than he was mildly opposed to all social interaction at the moment as it distracted from the primary task of getting his legs working again), but he still couldn't fathom what appeal there was for her. If she had been interested in talking to him initially for the sake of convenience, that convenience had now disappeared. It was unlikely Rufina would want to drag him to social events any more, as a physical reminder that she was saddled with a cripple for a husband, and he certainly wouldn't go of his own volition. If she had been interested in cultivating an acquaintance because of their different in social status (for he was not blind to the fact that she and her husband were rather less well off than the circles they tried to associate themselves with), his utility in that aspect would have diminished as well, if not utterly disappeared.

"Perhaps you'll allow me to write on occasion, then?" he offered uncertainly. He wasn't ready to commit himself to a proper social engagement of any sort, but he also didn't want to refuse her outright. At least, not until he'd figured out the motivation behind her offer in the first place.