Phryne cocked her head, briefly puzzled, before she realized he meant the black of widower's weeds, and she nodded. "Perhaps, but black is terribly becoming. It makes a powerful statement. Not quite as powerful as red or white, but powerful nonetheless."

Turning aside the fashion commentary with an amused smile, she swept her gaze over him again. "I've dressed in feathers myself, but they were pink and covered decidedly less of me. Is it significant, the raven feathers?" For thus they seemed to be.