‘Hi. How are things with you? Sorry, I couldn’t think of anything else to say.’
That’s an odd opening gambit from a serving wench, don’t you think? It is. I have several theories as to what it might have indicated, but I don’t suppose any of them matter any more than I do.
(It’s quite a sobering experience to realise that you don’t matter. It’s even a little depressing, but I expect to get over that in the fullness of time.)