Having essentially delivered a fistfull of verbal pocket sand, Richard looks away, briefly, to assure himself that there’s nobody else stepping out at the same time to have overheard this declaration. There isn’t.

He looks back to her, eyes bright, critical, and says, “Mm,” because he is less convinced that it is fine.

Imagine being a spy and not dumping Charisma. He turns to go in earnest -- he has important letters to slowly open and read three or four times without processing what they say.