Quirrel's gaze immediately centres on their hands. He's familiar, apparently.
"I see! Well, then it's twice the honour!" And it's true, at least in some way, because he seems a little brighter still for that. They are encouraging him terribly!
...He, too, pretends not to notice, but he's less good at it. His line of sight strays for a second. "Hm," says Quirrel, and pretends to be distracted with a stall they're passing.
When he faces front again, he decides the small talk part of this exchange has been adequately satisfied.
"You seem to have picked up some rather small hitchhikers, Your Grace," he says, in such a casual how-about-the-weather way that it would attract no second thought from any passer-by even if he hadn't lowered his voice quite a bit.
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"I see! Well, then it's twice the honour!" And it's true, at least in some way, because he seems a little brighter still for that. They are encouraging him terribly!
...He, too, pretends not to notice, but he's less good at it. His line of sight strays for a second. "Hm," says Quirrel, and pretends to be distracted with a stall they're passing.
When he faces front again, he decides the small talk part of this exchange has been adequately satisfied.
"You seem to have picked up some rather small hitchhikers, Your Grace," he says, in such a casual how-about-the-weather way that it would attract no second thought from any passer-by even if he hadn't lowered his voice quite a bit.