Cambridge is, obscurely, disappointed by the response. It's an entirely illogical reaction. He knows himself, anyway; there's no way he would be really satisfied. There's no satisfaction to be had in this situation.

"As I said," he says, giving her professionalism instead of emotion, "not divulging would be unethical. Your decisions about me should be informed."

Unethical. He's a joke right now, isn't he? There is no ethical way to proceed. There is no professionalism to fall back on. A flood of bitterness hits him like the smack of water's surface-tension.

A shake of his head, like he might dismiss all of those thoughts. "I have no expectations on how you may or may not react," he tells her. "I will exert no pressure on you. Your life is yours, and your choices are yours."

There. That's a little better. A little closer to something clean.