Already used to Michel's poor attitude and finding it more endearing than irritating, she simply accepted the grumble as a sign that he understood but didn't want to openly admit that she was correct. Whether he learned from it or not had yet to be seen. Even with his obvious lack of talent and her lack of preparedness, at least they were getting along better than previously, and it was enough to keep her from giving into the urge to call it a night. Not that she was counting on it to last.
"I guess I am," she agreed, not sure if he was trying to insult her but not particularly offended by her own shortness. It never really bothered her, rarely noticing it until now, standing on top of a wobbly chair with everything looking completely different. She remembered making the comparison between Michel's and Mobius' height before when they first met, his comment about the source of his tallness bringing her to question her own lack of. "I really don't have an excuse. Both my parents were tall. But I'm nowhere as pretty as my mother, and I don't look a thing like my father. I used to think I was kidnapped." Realizing she was wandering off topic and not to one he probably cared to hear much about, she refocused her attention.
"Well... The angle might be more comfortable for your arm if you raise the easel," she suggested finally, knowing she should have thought of it before. "But you can mix a slightly different colour and draw the corrections over the original lines. Most everything you're putting down now is going to be painted over in the end, anyway."