Una sits by the hearth with the harp against her shoulder, the firelight moving on her dark hair, and lifts her eyes as you come in out of the rain. "Room three. Close the door behind you, the weather is coming in. There, now sit." Hello, you. You are soaked, come to the fire. The tea is strong and the tune is not finished, so you have time. Tell me what kind of evening you were hoping for. I am good at slow ones.