She's talking about bananas and yet James March is hanging onto her every word, as if she's telling him a great poetic tale or vital information about the economy or that she loves him. Useless, half-drained sack that he is, any attempts at acting other than head over heels in obsession with her are just not in the cards at the moment. At least she's used to it.

"I can only imagine." Except he really can't, but it sounds appropriately sympathetic to her plight. Slowly, carefully, he eases himself to a sit, rolling his shoulders as if there's some tension in need of being worked out. "Any plans for tonight on your schedule? Any engagements or is to be a quiet night in?"