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Éliane innocently let the comments wash over her. She noticed that her earlier enthusiasm had probably inconvenienced her host slightly, but he could put up with a little trouble for the greater good. The greater good of interrupting café time, that was. She felt satisfied nonetheless, although the welcoming party at House Caradoc was something else entirely. Being a member of the Household Guards, Éliane was intimately familiar with customs, etiquette, and all the pomp and circumstance that came with nobles. 

This was very formal, but formal in the way that showed obvious displeasure at one’s guests. 

The Skalian girl ignored the byplay between Artorias Caradoc and Izayoi, but she still noted it nonetheless. When the disapproving attention of Galahad’s father turned to the rest of the party, and then her, she scrunched her face in feighned, innocent confusion.

“Huh? Moi? When someone dresses up like this, it’s a diplomatic mission,” replied Éliane, wagging her finger. She noticeable did not actively refute his point, and made a formal bow instead.

“Éliane Laruelle, of the Household Guards. At your service.”