"Arthur Westmore, ma'am," he said softly. However, his gaze was not on her but the beautiful painting in the hall. He couldn't stop staring at it. Unconsciously, he stepped forward until his hand was almost touching the canvas. His hand stopped just before he did damage to the painting. Finally his wandering had brought him someplace that would inspire his muse.  With a gulp he stepped back and tucked his hands in his pockets.<br/><br/>"Beautiful, simply beautiful," Arthur breathed out. "What is the story behind this painting, if I may ask? I hope you will forgive me if you find me just standing here at odd hours and for long lengths of time. I'm a painter and I've been looking for a place to stay while I paint."