He wouldn't have thought anything of it but for her reaction. It starts as a surprised chuckle, rolling into proper laughter and a grin. "You only meant that I am also unwell." He coughs a little, leans forward with the effort and takes a moment to catch his breath. A smirk remains, self-depricating. "However could you tell?"

Malcolm shakes his head, sitting back up straighter. "Work must be done, and if everyone who had taken ill went for a lie-down until it passed, people would be dying on the passages here and nothing would get done, and this place would fall apart. And we must...keep appearances." Another shake. "You must keep up appearances, and Lady Montilyet, and Sister Nightingale, and Commander Cullen. Even if we see your illness, you strive to carry on. Now, were you in such a state that you were delirious with fever and could barely stand, then I would insist upon rest." He peers at her. "Unless you're worse off than you appear."