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Falco sat for some time in silence, watching the young Camille eat, and reflecting on her words. She spoke in a polite, respectful manner, and he suspected that, however ragged she might be now, she had not always been so poor. Her speech was refined, unlike the speech of most poor hobbits. He wondered how willing she would be to tell him of herself and her family. How odd it was! Marigold seemed to be in a fairly well-to-do family in her earlier days, though now she was orphaned and homeless.
"Tell me, Miss Camille," he said, speaking at length. "You say you can't take the dress because it's much to fine for you, and it wouldn't fit in with your surroundings."
"Yes, Mister Falco, and my mother..."
"Yes, yes, well... harumph!" He paused a moment for thought. Camille had mentioned that her mother would not let her take it, and he was rather unsure of how to make his approach. "Well, my dear, I wonder if your mother would have any real objections... that is to say, I am a fairly well-to-do hobbit, and can afford to spend money to help others, and... would your mother object much if I took you into town and bought you some nice, fresh, but simpler dresses?"
Camille hesitated, and looked doubtful.
"I understand she might not want to accept a gift," said Falco hastily. "Many are opposed to taking charity, but... I could speak to Cook and arrange the dresses as a little bit of a reward for whatever small tasks you might do about her." He paused once again, wondering if he should go a little bit farther. He did not want to overwhelm the girl and make her think she couldn't possibly accept his offer, but neither did he care to leave anything out. So he went on.
"I should also like to send a basket of food to your mother, if you think she would not take it amiss. Understand me, I do not look upon you as lower than I and in need of my condescending kindness, but I would like to present some small gift..." He fumbled off into silence.
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