"Oh no, I... it was my fault. Entirely." He'd been thinking about Obediah. He helped her to her feet with a sheepish blush. "I'm afraid I'm a little bit..." rumpled, perhaps. His shirtsleeves were rolled up; he'd managed to get bits of ink staining his hands and arms all the way up to his elbows, little marks scattered almost like freckles.
He rubbed his forehead with his wrist and managed to smear some ink there, as well. "I was working. And pacing."