“Of course, Miss McMillan, it would be my pleasure. That is why I am here, after all. If you like, you may take a precursory look at the book and see if any questions occur to you.” Mister Ray fiddled with his tie, his response rolling off his tongue almost instinctively. He could be patient, and if a pupil required assistance, who was he, as an educator, to reject their request? “There may be terms unknown to you, but overall this volume should be within your abilities. The author does not use complicated language, as his intention was to be accessible to a wider range of literate men.” Ray was on the brink of delving into another long-winded speech on the author and the book, but he held his tongue. Instead he wet his lower lip and asked, “Surely a work of fiction would not hold your interest more? I have a modest selection,” he gestured to the little shelf. He had a sudden itch to brush off the dust that had accumulated on his precious books. When he was in a thinking mood, he had a tendency to scrub anything in his sights. His sister used to quip that he would make a wonderful maid; at this, he would pretend to be grievously offended, and airy chuckles would bubble from their throats. Often, when such fond times were brought back to the surface of his well of memories, his expression would cloud over. At the moment, however, he wanted to dust and ponder Miss McMillan’s curious bright eyes and the intentions behind them.