Papers and pen in hand, Malachi glanced about for something to place them on, and settled ultimately on retrieving the briefcase from underneath his seat.

It was a little awkward at first, situating it over his lap, but he managed it and set the papers down.

“She is,” he agreed distractedly, looking through the papers for a blank one. Had Arthur brought nothing without something already written or printed upon it? After a few seconds of shuffling, Malachi sent him a look, but the doctor was looking out the window.

“You… you want to make a good impression? On her?”

Whatever did he want to do that for?

Malachi picked the least written-on paper and turned it around, beginning to write across the back of it. His hand was hurried, but careful, his writing practiced and precise.

“I suppose, yes, flatter her. Tell her all about being a doctor, and – is your family wealthy? Tell her that they are, in any case. The more respectable you are, the more you matter, and the more she will wish to cling to you like the parasite she is. My brother is much the same, if he’s there.”