"I'd be right grateful for that, Miss Swann." Bayard doesn't know how bitterly Swann is treated by her Tributes; it hasn't even occurred to him to be rude to his Stylists or Escort as they shower him with gifts and information, with clothes finer than anything that would last a hot summer's day in Jefferson and food that would make a cook weep for the ingredients.

"Ah, temperance. My Granny talks about that," he says, sheepish again and a little pouty, because it's probably his least favorite of the virtues. There's no self-satisfaction in temperance, only an absence of indulgence, and Bayard finds it a bore to both undertake and to listen to. "I'm sure I'll find a vegetable here that awes me enough."