Lancelot studies Sylvia a moment in silence, hands neatly behind his back. Cautious, because he is not entirely sure where his limits are. How honestly he may speak, and how much she might take offence. He has, after all, just handed her a report which sums up why people don't like her.

"May I speak freely?" he hedges, as much as a gentle warning that his words might not be 'oh well they love you already so just offer them chocolate'.