"I don't think my jarvey'd take kindly to another pet in the house," Morag said simply, but good-naturedly, pulling in another lung full of smoke as she considered him, the London scenery, and her pint, which she slurped down without any quaint good manners. He was cute, he seemed well behaved, and she liked men who were forward and clever, but she had grown out of the one-night-stand-with-a-man-in-a-nice-jacket phase of her life -- and whether he was one of Those Purebloods or not, he was still a pureblood, and she hadn't had the time to do any real digging on him yet. He could be an ex-death eater for all she knew. He could have been lying through his teeth.