Eloquence's lady's maid, Shaw, smiled shyly at Mr Lytton, ever so charmed by his handsome beam and warm demeanor. Eloquence herself was charmed too, but in a far less soppy manner; she simply enjoyed good company as well as good dresses. And so she was all too happy to succumb to the tacit invitation to gossip, speaking of a ball she'd attended last month.

"He claimed he'd hurt his ankle in a Quidditch accident, but, I tell you, I spied him later that evening and he was no longer limping. My theory", she continued conspiratorially, and Shaw had to resist rolling her eyes, "is that I was too old for him. An odd and uncanny thing I know", she added — Loq was not very vain, but she knew she was hardly an old maid at twenty, "but I'm sure of it. For I asked around. Did a little... investigating. And it transpires the gentleman will only dance or step out with girls of eighteen, seventeen... even fourteen. And with him turning forty-two next Spring", she added darkly.