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Why Falco leaned over to whisper in Mithalwen's ear he couldn't say. He was supposed to be suspicious of her, but he was murmuring low to her, as if confident of her. Perhaps Camille had put him in an excellent put, or perhaps he had been slightly warmed by Mithalwen's own whispering. But whatever the reason, he did indeed lean over to her, with a reassuring smile, and whispered a reply.
"Don't fret about Marigold's dress, Miss Mithalwen," he said. "It's safe and sound, and I believe it is in the kitchen." He paused for a moment, and made a move as if to straighten up, but lingered in his leaning position a little longer to say, in the same low tones: "I'm going to be gone briefly this evening to help a young boy get to the Inn... I wonder if you would mind watching out for Marigold while I'm away."
Ah, so he was suspicious of her, and he asked her to watch Marigold again... and he wouldn't be in the Inn. Last time Marigold had been left alone with this young woman, she (that is, Marigold) had fallen from a horse. What madness possessed him to ask again? Why did he suddenly feel as if he ought to trust this young woman? He was quite irritated with himself, and gave her no time to voice either assent or dissent, for he immediately turned to face Camille and Marigold, who had been gazing curiously and rather shyly at each other.
"Miss Camille, I should like you to meet Miss Marigold Baker. And, Marigold, my dear, this is Miss Camille." He had been determined to ignore the young woman in the introductions as his penance for trusting her to watch Marigold again, but he felt it would be rude, and so added, in a rather grudging tone: "And, Camille, this is Miss Mithalwen."
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