Alfred's stomach did a little flip, but he wasn't sure whether it was due to her words or the look in her eyes as she said them. He had an immediate instinct to reach out and hold her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, but obviously he couldn't do that. Not with the way things stood between them, no matter what she'd said.

There was a part of him, small but distinct, that wanted to protest that this wasn't fair. Zelda couldn't just not return his letter and then be on his boat saying things like that, or looking at him that way. She was making it seem as though she cared, really cared, and that shouldn't be allowed, given the circumstances. A part of him wanted to tell her that: to point out that he was supposed to be halfway to India by now because she didn't care. He'd done his part. He tried and failed to get things moving forward between them, and then he'd waited and worked and put money away so that he could eventually convince her father to let him see her. He'd waited for her, and then she hadn't even returned his letter, and she didn't get to do this now, when he'd decided to move on and wasn't even supposed to be in England anymore.

He wasn't going to say any of that to her, though. Not when she looked so suddenly fragile.

"I'm alright," he assured her again, instead. "I'm going to be alright."