Part of her is still reeling a little that he bought her jewelry, that she's with the sort of man who walks past a jewelry shop, sees something in the window that catches his eye and makes him think of her, and then gets it. Of course, some of that is simply down to where they are. She could probably afford to buy herself jewelry if she really wanted to, or if it had ever occurred to her. But it hadn't. Saoirse is far easier to indulge, and it's hard to think of finery as something she ought to be spending money on.

His question prompts a brief flare of mortification. Between her surprise and curiosity, she hasn't even thanked him, has she? And though he hardly seems annoyed, she can't help but think he must notice those little faux pas. A Lady would have got out a 'thank you' by now, surely.

"Truly," she's quick to reassure him, though not so quick that it sounds like a lie. "Thank you." She pushes herself up onto her toes to kiss him, sweet and lingering, before dropping back onto her heels. "I'm just not used to being gifted jewelry," she adds. There's some playful exaggeration to her tone -- as if the gift is just horribly decadent -- but there's no masking the plain truth of it.