"'I'll manage,'" she parrots back, the pitch and cant of her voice in (poor) imitation of his. "A likely story. That sounds to me as if you meant to loiter on the sidelines if you bother to show up at all, sir. I have put far too much effort into the improvement of your footwork to let it go to waste, Mister Ellis! 'Exaggerating my ability'—how dare you disparage my efforts in such a fashion!"

It's a joke. All of it is. It's just a silly little nonsense conversation. An absurd little thing exchange designed to fill the time that it takes them to trot down to catch the ferry and make their way across to the fortress island. Later—at the next party they have cause to attend, maybe—she will make some reference to it and hope that he laughs. That's all that it is, and so there is no reason at all to feel even a little insulted or annoyed by his being contrary. That would be absurd. Of course that's how he must be. It's the part she had already mentally cast him in. The joke wouldn't stand up at all if he were to go along with it.

Traipsing down the stairs arm and arm, Wysteria bullheadedly charges through that little inexplicable twinge in her chest.

"And if that isn't what you mean—if you really will be responsible for finding yourself a new dancing partner—, then you must at least promise to pretend to entertain my suggestions. I couldn't bear it if your new choice were someone I disapproved of."