Conan arrived at the Van Eldts' estate, sweaty palmed and shaking. If anything could remind him of the disparity between his and his best friend's class, it was this. Here he was, indebted to a noble, dressed in an underused and wrinkled formal clothes ("Look presentable when you go, Conan," his mother chided, "but don't wear your best and get them soiled!") to pay back the favor of two gala tickets.
He stood up and bowed when the lady entered, his eyes fixating on her dainty feet. She was beautiful; he did not need that distraction while giving the answer that he rehearsed.
"I'm Conan, ma'am," he reminded hastily as he rose, for she was noble and he commoner. He figured her kind had no reason to remember his name. "I am here to help you so I can repay my debt. The tickets." He forced himself to forgo contractions as he continued speaking, the way Storm would in public.