Emrys shrugged indifferently. "I'm familiar with most of this suite already, so I've been drifting in and out," he explained. Both halves of the statement were true, though the connection between them was more tenuous. He was familiar with the music; he would hardly have agreed to sponsor the composer's new song without knowing at least a little of his work already. And he had been drifting in and out, but that was not so much from a lack of interest in the orchestrations as it was his peculiar social situation at the moment. He was trying to force himself to be actively seen to be conversational, but the idea of just carrying on boring small talk conversations with utterly uninteresting women all night made him feel physically ill in much the same way that he'd warned her the fish might. So he was taking it in doses; a conversation (or half a conversation, if his partner was particularly odious) and then a break to sit back with the music in his gallery seat and watch the acrobatics on stage.

"The dancers on stage are a novel addition," he commented as though he had nothing to do with it. "And I've heard the Sonata itself is rather brilliant, from a few people who ought to know." He'd heard it himself, in fact, but couldn't say so without seeming to boast about his patronage, which wasn't really the point of this conversation.