"Don't be sorry," she said, placing a hand on his. "You're not being silly at all." The look on her face was a serious one, one that exuded compassion and understanding, one that illustrated, quite plainly, that he needn't worry about keeping up any sort of facade around her; he could just be. And if he was at a point where he needed to be mopy-mo, then so be it. He need not have felt the need to pass anything off.
"Let me tell you, Mr. Cudahy-- er, Tristan," she corrected, "I've had my share of mopy-mo moments, too. I can understand perhaps more than you realize."