Ianto would have otherwise let the encounter pass into oblivion and kept going, but the overt tension in the young woman is a bit jarring. Taking a closer look at her, he sees a young girl that reminds him of his sister at that age—and the steel in a toughened youth that reminds him entirely too much of himself when he was possibly just a couple years younger than the sixteen or seventeen she appears to be.

“Still, hardly an excuse for bad manners, is it?” Ianto sighs lightly, playing up the Welsh accent perhaps the tiniest bit as he smiled and offered her his hand more cordially. “Ianto Jones. To whom do I have the honor of acquainting myself with?”