Harry watches her, pulling the little pot of jam towards him, and picking up a knife with which to spread it on the scone. A long time ago, in his youth, he remembered stealing a tray of scones. He couldn't have been more than seven, and he didn't get very far. Still, his crime went unpunished, and as he remembered, he'd been given one of the scones he attempted to pilfer anyway. Harry couldn't help smile at that, glancing back at her from spreading the jam carefully onto the lower portion of the baked treat.
"I could name you one man off the top of my head that doesn't, Lady Gwendolyn. Take bribes, of course." He said, reaching for the pot of clotted cream. "As for insulting natives, it seems to be something that our government is very good at doing. They've managed to do it to the Scottish and the Irish, why not try to offend those further afield?"
"Hardly kind, Lady Gwendolyn. It was a business transaction. A friendly one, but all the same, business." He replied with a faint smile, as he set the top of the scone on top of the jam and cream layer, forming a sandwich. "I try to supply those who ask me with what they need. Now, the question is, how do you eat a scone without becoming sticky, or without offending your hostess?"