"Oh." Her scoff is mild rather than that sharp insistent thing Wysteria ordinarily deploys, as breezy as the breath of harbor wind which plucks at her hair from beneath her felt cap and divides it into wild filament strands about her ears and face.

"I'm afraid those days are well behind us, Mister Ellis. But truly—I'm pleased to hear you so passionate on the subject. When next we're at some function where the subject must naturally arise, I will do everything in my power to secure you an appropriate alternate. I would hate it, truly hate it, if my own inconvenience were to signal the end of your dancing career. You're far too fine a partner to deprive the floor of."