He soaked in the texture of the few words she answered him with, wallowed in the winsome Irish lilt. However, her manner was so hesitant. She was hunching into herself, obviously not at ease around them. He wondered what Lord Upton could want with a musician; it had to have something to do with him (Fane) as well, else they wouldn't be part of the same meeting with the Lord.

At the Lord's invitation to talk about herself, Fane saw her flustered dismay and glanced away, uncomfortable. He couldn't venture to steer the conversation elsewhere; that would be crossing the line, not that he could immediately think of a change of topic anyway. She gathered herself enough to give a reply, spare but not really succinct. The Lord had the tact to leave it at that, only to ask the same of Fane. Not that Fane minded.

"My native village is Linkeep. The illiterate villagers would pay my father to write their letters for them. He taught me to read and write. By the time I grew up, a little school was made and my father was the schoolmaster. He had not time to write letters. I took over. I saved up. Read all I could. Wrote the stories the villagers passed to their children." He looked intently at Mellie, that she may understand that he started out from a humble beginning, that he didn't think she need feel discomposed around him. He only regarded social heirarchy in his behaviour when someone else's judgement of him hinged on it, someone whose approval was needed. "And then I went to a… finishing school." His nose twitched, indicating he found the memory less than pleasant. "And, well, once I was out in the world, I was able to… get on. I wrote contracts, trade agreements, then family histories, tracing lineages… richer people engaged my talents. I researched, I wrote, and so I continue." He did not want smugness in his tone, and hoped he was able to keep it out. He felt content, not because he was paid more as time went by, but because he was able to make a living with words. It was worthwhile in itself.