Crozier accepts what he's told, opting not to badger him like somebody's mum over eating supper. Having a reactive schedule on a ship seems like a double-edged sword, to him— able to pick and choose moments for oneself a boon, having moments interrupted a pain. And so he won't begrudge Jopson the free bits.

"Let's, then." He nods, encouraging Jopson to get it. While he does, Crozier gets up to fetch himself a cup of tea, mostly just hot water and whatever's left in the vessel, bravely resisting the temptation to dump in a dash of whiskey. Weather's a bit suspicious, the ship is moving about, and he'd like to stay awake.

It is theater to say he isn't finished eating yet, a few forkfuls left that he's deliberately delaying so that they might sit together and read for a while. They can switch off, and he'll take over to let Jopson enjoy his tea when he's done with dinner. Crozier reads easily, doesn't stumble much, though his holidays to make commentary on this or that leave him a middling orator at best.