Mary nods pleasantly in response, unlikely to argue with anyone even if she did disagree, not forcefully. She smooths down her skirts absentmindedly for a moment, letting her fingers weave in and out of the creases of the soft blue fabric. Her clothes are slightly out of fashion for England, truthfully, but she was fond of what she had brought with her from home.

"Is it listening to your prayers, footman?" Her eyes flicker up, more focused than they have been at any other point in this conversation, ice cold blue and intent. "Do you have a lost soul to pray for?"

A lady would ask the question more gently, there is almost a bluntness to her now.