To say that Nigel is somewhat taken aback by this reception would be a bit of an understatement. He's grown used to Rosella's politeness, the soft smile that she gives as a version of hello -- but this is a different sort of enthusiasm. An enthusiasm motivated by loneliness and worry, he knows, but enthusiasm nevertheless. The smile he returns, therefore, is bright and unaffected. It is, at its best, almost charming.

"As nice a time as one could suspect, trudging to the library through the snow," he tells her. A small stack of books -- one on birds, another on insects, a third on phrenology -- are dropped onto the counter beside one of the many cooling pans of brownies. He peers down into its contents and, with a finger, pokes the surface experimentally. "You've certainly been busy." When he glances at her now, the look lingers.

"Are you feeling any better?"