Fox cleared her throat again, covering her mouth with her hand, then cast a suspicious glance towards the dancers as if this unseen escort of Mrs. Fry's might suddenly appear and whisk her away for a dance. She'd fight him, she would, gentleman or no! There was no harm in talking, was there, different classes though they clearly were?
God in Heaven, what was wrong with her?
"Likely he's gone outside for a smoke, if he partakes of tobacco," she suggested, using the cup as a pointer to indicate the exit. "The proprietor don't allow smokin' indoors after some git almost burned the place to the ground last year. He said the trouble of sweeping up the mess out there is better than havin' to possibly rake through ashes after a fire."
She looked down into her cup, then removed it from her index finger to set it aside on the table. What did men do in these situations? A set of narrow shoulders squared inside the coat, and she fastened the button that would hold it closed over her mid-section.
"Would you..." No, she mustn't. Not here, in public. Not anywhere at all. Elspeth. What a beautiful name...
"Should ye care for another cup of punch, Mrs. Fry? We could sit where it isn't quite so crowded."