It was completely new to Patience to be observed like that. The warm smile was lovely, but not new; when he studied her, however, she felt herself stilling, not uncomfortable in the least, but definitely much more aware of how she was holding herself, the loose and comfortable fit of her simple, colorful clothing, the windblown tangles of her hair. She was sure, since he was an artist, he could see every detail, and that was an interesting feeling.
"No," she said, her smile small but genuine and curious. "Are you saying you'd like to paint me?"