[He's patient, allowing her to speak and share in her own time rather than urging her onward, though a frown does tug at the corners of his lips when she at last does so. What little she has shared of her past with him, she has always done so with hesitance, caution; it had been plain enough that her youth had not been a happy one, and he has known for some time now that should he have the opportunity to learn more, he would only come to disapprove of her teacher even more than he already had.

Her fingers curl into his sleeve, and he tightens his hold around her waist ever-so-slightly, offering what small bit of security he can.]

That was hardly your fault. You are not a fool.

[On that, he will stand firm.]

Your teacher took advantage of your youth and offered you a choice that no child could ever possibly be equipped to make, even one so brilliant as I'm certain you must have been. That he did so was cruel and unfair, but no fault of your own, Amelia.