For however faint, a curtsey--how quaint. An anachronism that could have intrigued him, if not for his concentration faithfully continuing to be broken by any subtly shattering creak, lightly misty dripdrop, murmuring stir of echoes, ghostly movement, or a reposing adjustment of the old building itself.
He'd likely just pressed the wrong button. Case closed.
"Jane. What an awful name for someone so very far from plain." Straightening himself out, smoothing his garments down, and seeing to it his long black hair was still up, he was ready in every direction. He had as well cunningly stolen a glance over to the naive elevator with only his inquisitive eyes, as if the thing, like a pixie in a fairy tale, might not be there any longer having been found out with its trickery. Fortunately, when he'd looked, it was still there. Which meant that he would eventually be able to either get lost again, or make some money tonight. Preferably the latter. It would be quite obvious to Jane and well, pretty much anyone what Miles' profession was--indeed, if they knew anything about magicians--the hat, the gloves, the suit, even the shoes--were all tell tale. And thus, he took no steps forward with his body, but did seem to advance nearer with eyes only.
"Is this your floor, Jane? Or have you just been dropped off here the same as I have?" he'd inquired, the eye, beneath the arched bridging of his brow, had narrowed, as if within this dim lighting, the act would indeed make it more easy to see her. "By chance and not by choice?"