Schiller's movements paused slightly. He took a pen from his suit pocket and gently spun it in his hand.
"He's feeling anxious." Bruce's voice echoed through the theater. "That pen is a grounding object he uses to remind himself of his identity as a professor. I saw it often."
"When he was reading your papers?"
"When he was reading my papers." Bruce turned to Hal, who had asked the question. "But back then, one pen wasn't enough."
"If you don't mind, Mr. March, could you hang your clothes in the cloakroom?" Schiller's tone remained gentle, without a trace of impatience.
"I don't see a coat rack. Where is it?" March turned to look toward the door.
Diana covered her forehead and sighed. "I absolutely do not mean to discriminate against poor people, but anyone with even a little common sense should know that wealthy homes have a separate room for clothes. They do not have an ordinary coat rack by the door for hanging outerwear."
"Normally, a servant takes the clothes and sends them to the wardrobe in the cloakroom specifically meant for storing guests' garments, usually on the left side of the cloakroom. And if only the host is home, then with the host's permission, they may fold clean clothes neatly and drape them over the back of a chair."
"Isn't March doing exactly that?" Clark asked.
"The clothes have to be clean and folded neatly, but more importantly, you need the host's permission first." Bruce looked at Clark. He knew the small-town boy lacked this sort of common knowledge. It had nothing to do with intelligence; Clark simply had never encountered this kind of life, so naturally he did not know how to behave in it.
"In this kind of social interaction, it is very important for both