[It's fortunate for both of them that blinking really hard doesn't count as breaking eye contact, or they'd both be right back at the start. Receiving compliments a lord might give an inferior doesn't surprise him--though he has a vague impression that "following directions" isn't something he's ever been praised for before--but Barnabas's final comment catches Ademnet completely off guard.

Well, what in the name of Toh am I supposed to say to that?]

Right. Yeah. [A beat.] Thanks.

[He's trying so hard not to look flustered.]

You got good aim, and you ain't stupid. You're tall. You're--practical, I guess? Most noble bastards like you would've been a lot slower at comin' up with somethin' to say to me, assumin' they didn't just dalpoundin' refuse. I don't got a good word for that. Practical's close enough.

[That's four, right? He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and mutters:]

...Not bad-lookin' for an old guy.

[As if to prove the honesty of his assessment, a door opens.]