Yes. Smith was so very careful to appear unruffled, smooth. Perfumed, indeed. He exerted every bit of control over the situation that was available to him precisely because that control is an illusion. The so-cultured Oliver Smith is indeed on the hop, sliding in his leather soles across London’s treacherous pavements, all the while gritting his teeth and determined to appear the image of certainty. The imperially inflected suit, the casual meeting. All in the hope that he would be able to deflect her attention for long enough—