He inclines his head to one side, two fingers coming up for his temple to lean against as his elbow is braced against the arm of the chair. It is the words she speaks that tell him more than what he considers the bare bones of Ella's story in the dossier tucked in the drawer of his desk. It is the contrast of her own feelings ( the girl is happy, perhaps relieved? that his reception of her has been what it is; he cannot be sure yet, and he was never the kind to presume... ) with those words that settle whatever surface concerns he had over Barbara's decision to embrace a dying child who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time in a city that could have been safe.

It is that question that softens the look in his eyes.

"I have a question for you, my dear."