She tried to think of what he would be like in the modern era. A powerful CEO bent on hostile takeovers? Perhaps a writer who spent his days gazing out a large bay window.
The thought of him doing anything messy, like painting or cooking, brought a soft smile to her face and a question to her lips.
"Do you have any hobbies?"
He looked over the top of his scroll at her, and the image of him in glasses reading a newspaper was firmly cemented in her mind.
"I do not have time for such frivolous things," he replied.
She waved him off. "Nobody does, you have to make time for them."