Lily considers Nathan's outstretched hand warily, as if the tailor might be concealing a rabid, starving Doberman up his sleeve, but shakes nonetheless, though her grip lingers in his only so long as the absolute minimums of courtesy demand.  Not one for touching, our Lily; she flickers a fainly apologetic smile to him, murmuring, "Lily Black, florist.  A pleasure to meet you.  Will you join us?" She darts a look at Anastasia, adding a respectful nod, but makes no motion to disturb the other woman; Pobble's coat receives the fleeting hint of a grin. 