"In the market sometimes if people recognize me under my cowl, they are unkind. But that is to be expected, Signore. People are unkind to women of the night. We're pariahs." She gave a soft snort and found the need to sit back down. She let out a labored puff of breath, cheeks going flush a little.

The young woman then gazed up at him in curiosity, "And what might I call you, Signore?" Her brow lifted ever so slightly, her gaze moving up and down to examine him, yet there was nothing to indicate any sort of attraction from her, merely a steady studious gaze that drank in his features steadily like an observer. It wasn't that he wasn't handsome, which he was, it was that he didn't seem to ooze the type of arrogance that most men seemed to employ.

That and he wasn't trying to buy her affections once learning that she was a soiled dove.