Alan's smile changes--cynical, gentle, and amused all at once, it's the sort of smile awarded to homespun gifts. That's very kind, it says, and at the same time, What on earth am I going to do with this? "Others still," he says, sipping again at his scotch, "would call it perversity. And not a one of them would be wrong."

He cants his head, his interest undisguised but not overstepping the bounds of politeness. "What about that idealist of yours? Cary, was it."