Mister Ray was an observant man, but also oblivious of his own expressions. When he made an effort, he could construct a convincing façade for those he wanted to impress. But when he was being swept away in the tide of his musings, his face, especially his eyes, became an open window to his emotions and thoughts. And he hadn’t much awareness of this fact, either. So while he noted, with a hint of gratification, how focused on his words Miss McMillan had been, he had also been clueless of how she had observed his temporary reverie into unpleasant cogitation.<br/>His features again shifted repeatedly as he ruminated on the young woman’s words.<br/><br/>True, allowing her to borrow a book was not synonymous to him tutoring her in the matters of business. But books could be ample teachers, even without a tutor to guide a pupil through them. He wondered briefly how this child had managed, on at least two occasions now, to convince him to do something that, potentially (even if it was a slight potential), could put him at odds with Lord McMillan. Mister Ray blinked down at the worn out book with the blotched pages and chafed edges, and shifted his gaze to the too-inquisitive young woman who held it in her hands. “I hope you enjoy the book, Miss McMillan,” he said, clearly acquiescing. “It is a tattered old thing, but food for the thoughts nonetheless. Do you have any questions?”