Mister Ray’s eyes flashed briefly and his jaw tightened visibly at her “literate women” comment, which he noticed was coupled with a slightly venomous smile and a shake of her head. But he stifled the surge of annoyance and continued speaking, suggesting she might prefer fiction over the very technical novel that lay in her hands, and then, finally, her words drew a response from him that, while conversational on the surface, was laced with agitation.<span style="font-style: italic">Fiction is boring?</span>, he thought,<span style="font-style: italic">Imagination is what keeps this world bearable. Boring!</span>He almost snorted derisively, but quelled the urge.<br/><br/>He gazed at Miss McMillan’s features; she seemed absolutely serious and sure in what she had just said.<span style="font-style: italic">People have opinions</span>, he told himself,<span style="font-style: italic">and perhaps she is </span>trying<span style="font-style: italic"> to aggravate me</span>. Regardless, he could not prevent himself from responding, “I respect your opinion, Miss McMillan. Although surely there are many fantastical things that can be seen only through fiction? A book of numbers can not compare to—“ He paused in his would-be rant when Miss McMillan’s level expression faltered at the thud of footsteps.<br/><br/>”Oh, no. My Father is home, I suppose.”<br/><br/>Mister Ray deflated. His exasperation twisted into nervousness and he said succinctly, “Perhaps you should soon be going, Miss McMillan. I will be retiring shortly. Please do not hesitate to approach me if you have questions on the book.” He dipped his head curtly. “Have a lovely evening, Miss McMillan.” He glanced sharply at the door, then the young lady, at the door once more, and pulled at his tie with suddenly fidgety hands.