The mention of Little's name doesn't seem to register on Jopson's face as he turns to regard her politely. Never let anyone know, he tells himself. Steel his face and his mind and his body. That's the way the steward survives.

He inclines his head, a small bow of acknowledgment.

"Miss Marsh. Is there something I can do for you?"

And indeed he sets the scissors aside, ready tontry and attend to whatever she requires.