Frederic's smile turned almost bashful and he felt somewhat like a man barely out of childhood again, nervous over offering a girl his handkerchief, but in this situation, it was vice-versa. "Clover and I are well," he replied, taking the handkerchief delicately, "And I am alright, just a price of the trade, I suppose." After dabbing at his cheek, he rolled up his right sleeve to show her the long scar- about a half-foot long -along his forearm. "I've had worse. This was from a clock with a bomb hidden inside- the police in Scarborough brought it to my mentor at the time, panicking over it needing diffusing, but I was the only one in the shop at the time. I managed to stop the timer with a good three minutes to spare, but in the process, a bar snapped out from where it had been bent in and sliced my arm open." He paused, realizing this was a bit of a gruesome story to tell a lady, and finished quickly, "It healed right up, no harm done other than the scar."