[ Hilda happens to be nearby, keeping a watchful eye on the newbies and acting as a good official/unofficial member of the welcoming committee as she can. She flits around the room, mirroring Sam in many ways by ensuring that everyone has everything they need and that no wallflowers are kept tethered to the corner of the room.

When the dancing begins, she can't help but be surprised although she doesn't know why she's surprised in the first place. Maybe it's because Sam thought this was an informal thing and informal things didn't really have dancing, a thought that makes her huff amusedly after the fact.

Amusement transforms into a small bloom of pride when she realizes who has pulled dear old Mags into a dance in the first place. Blake — not Bartie, as she had taken to calling him after their near-mauling experience in Nocwich — had unrooted himself from his spot against the wall. Colour her proud of her fake, gambling husband. When the song comes to a close she claps along with the rest of the crowd before letting out something of a dramatic sigh. ]

Oh, alright, twist my arm. [ She steps in easily, picking up his hands as if she knows the steps to the dance. Instead she stands there expectantly, eyes sparkling up at him mischievously. ] But only because I didn't know you were so light on your feet. You should stick to that instead of sewing.