The turnovers are ready for the oven. Susan sets the egg wash and brush to the side, wipes her fingers on a dishcloth, and goes to embrace Lancelot, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I know," she says softly. "But he strikes me as earnest and trustworthy, and he cares about you a great deal. I don't believe he'd commit to patience if he didn't mean it. And it isn't as if he's got no one to meet his, ah, needs."