Byron chuckles at his new honorific, though he can’t help some mild affront at the assumption of his tastes. “Oh please! Have you no imagination? Your “puppet” will be left alone, I would first see what opportunities we have around us, before devoting my attention to anything singular.” From his window viewings, Byron takes a moment to analyse his current dress. “It would see that I am out of fashion for this time. Perhaps we should first see to some suitable raiment, especially as my breeches remain wine-marked.”