For all that he had done in his life, there were many things he had not. Some would say that he had never left the alley the night his parents were killed, or that while he had matured into adulthood, he had never grown up. In the same way, part of him had never come home after leaving it at the age of thirteen; he had left something behind in all he'd witness in his travels, and knew that for those who had seen war, and lived it, it was even worse.
But he understood Agent Hill's discomfort in his world because he wore a mask to pretend he belonged here, and he knew that Selina had always been clawing her way smoothly into society's acceptance, in spite of her earlier circumstances. It struck him, all the illusions, and all the effort that went into maintaining them. For a moment Bruce was angered by the necessity, until he remembered another mask, and what it represented.
He was about to say something in regards to Agent Hill's offer to leave when Selina began to hurry herself out instead. Caught off-guard, Bruce could do little but watch, making the beginnings of a protest as she breezed back into the ballroom, but by the time he got his feet moving, she was gone.
Turning to look at Maria, Bruce was away his expression was far too sober for his character, but could hardly help it. Looking out over the grounds, he stuck he hands in his pocket, thinking, not sure what to say. Finally, he found something. "I'm sorry about that." He sounded chagrinned.