He stays there, holding her, breathing in the scent of her -- realizing that, while he understands (mostly) why he withdrew, it might have been better for them both if he had challenged himself to find her sooner. She soothes him, calms him, and he's (still, somehow) faintly surprised to find she isn't angry with him, but understanding.

This has been true for some while, but he keeps finding that the habits he has formed out of long experience with Guinever don't serve him very well when it comes to Susan. (Perhaps, when it comes to anyone.) The way that Susan cares for him, takes care of him, seeks to understand him -- it is nothing he ever expected.

Lancelot lets his hand stroke gently over the fabric of her dress, keeping her tucked closely against him, content for now to just keep her here, with him, quiet and near.