He feels a thrill at the sensation of her hand in his own, at the mere fact that she has not prevented him from taking it. The girl is no less lovely upon closer inspection than she had seemed from afar — if anything, she exceeds expectations — and she becomes more compelling with each moment. Who is the girl of such grace who accepts, even briefly, the conversation of such an uncouth stranger? Who does not tear her delicate hand from his own ungainly grasp (the sight might almost be absurd, though he finds the contrast charming). This is beyond mere courtesy.

And then she touches his shoulder; better still! The contact, this time initiated by the as-yet-unknown woman, feels welcoming, or at least is no indication of repulse. To be accepted by this woman...

Perhaps he would do best to proceed with the slightest hint of care. There may be more to this than he could have dared to hope.

"As you like, my lady." He clasps her hand in both of his own for a moment before rising, bowing his head as if in submission. "That you might grant the favor of your name is more than I had dared to hope."