Eppie sighed at his words. She didn't have a soul filled with poetry like some, but the appreciation for art and beauty was in her somewhere, even if she'd never been able to develop it into more than a lust for pretty gowns and perfect decorations. She got a faraway, wistful look, fanning herself.
"Ah, well...I dinnae wot a sera...serag...wot that thing is, but it sounds luvley. Like a posh den in West Lime'ouse I were at once, wiv red curtains an' pillows scattered all about..." her voice trailed off, and if there were memories of that opium den and it's sensual delights, she put them aside. There had been a flash in his eye, but nothing clear enough to attribute to any particular emotion.
"Ah, sir, I ent the type fer places like that, I don't think. Yet I can't 'elp but long fer 'em, a bit. Still, tain't no way t'elp a bit o' dreamin', is there?" She gave a smile, her eyes watching the coin. "You...you know 'ow t'keep figures, then?"