Silver spares a glance over at Benedict, mostly to see if he's crossed a line, but it seems to be less of that and more some sort of social propriety angle. It's enough that he leans back, having no desire to finish his tea, watching as the boy all but sulks.

"I'll be sure to tell him about the intense pain one feels when moving it improperly," he says solemnly, and it's hard to tell if it's serious or not. "Or perhaps I should mention the difficulty getting into carriages."

He doesn't seem too upset about it. There's a twist of something he does feel when he looks at Benedict. Envy, or something close to it. Not for money or fame--he has fame, even if it's infamy--but for family. For bonds.

He's been very careful to keep to himself after Flint. He should probably say something, though. How much time has passed? Is it awkward now? Silver's much better at this whe it's not high society.

"You have a lovely family," he says at last.