"Ah, thank you." As he accepted the pen, he finally looked up and recognition brightened his appreciative smile. And then the smile dimmed just a little as he attempted to casually and without drawing attention to it, nudge some of his more damning notes underneath the books and folders collected on his part of the table. He tried to pass it off as making room.

He meant to greet her, to say something pleasant and small-talkish about how good it was to see her, or to inquire about her research, or some other unassuming nicety as one does--the kinds of things one says whether they entirely mean them or not.

Instead, his traitorous mouth had the gall to blurt out, "I had hoped not to meet anyone I knew here." And Aziraphale cringed with mortification. He couldn't even bring himself to say that he didn't mean it. Because he very well DID mean it. So what he could say was the very factual and slightly apologetic, "I'm sorry, that was rude."