Noble grinned at her, charmed by even the allusion to stories of dragons. "I'm sure her clients end up playing pretend dragon-keeper more than most children do," he said. There was something about the MacFustys lives that seemed idyllic to him — as long as he ignored things like their reputations — (although Tilda's family was better off than that other branch) — and the whole thing where her brother accidentally killed a person.

"I must confess I'm a little jealous of your mother," Noble admitted. "I hardly ever see my clients." Most of his business was conducted by owl, because — well, because it was easier, and because he didn't have the time to act as a courtier all-over magical Britain. It would have been a waste of his time. This had never bothered Noble before, but lately he was thinking that his talents would be better put to a different use — because he owed the Sanditon dead something, because clearly things were going wrong with his life generally, because hiding in his workshop by himself was starting to lose some of its appeal.

So, talking about clients — about the difference between himself and people who actually healed anyone — that edged them closer to the reason he'd wanted to catch up.

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