"No," he says, and it's an uncharacteristically taciturn answer for him, who's usually prone to going on at such length at any question posed to him. It's not as though he doesn't plan on saying more, it's just that he has to take another long moment to study the portrait, to memorize the expression on the woman's face, as though it really is a portrait of his mother, and not some portrait of a rich woman he's never heard of.

His attention is finally drawn away from the portrait and back to Ned, and he shakes his head, as though reaffirming the answer he'd just given moments before. "She died when I was little. Sometime between the time I was born and the time I was five months or so, I guess. There aren't any photos. I mean, maybe there are, somewhere, but I don't have them."

He's aware that he's letting Ned into what must seem like a very personal side of his life, but it seems only natural to him, that he explain himself fully to Ned. There's no sense hiding any of the facts about where he comes from, and he doesn't necessarily feel that he can miss his mother when he'd never known her to begin with. Still, there's something that keeps him coming back to this painting, and he looks at it again, briefly, then back to Ned, smiling slightly. "She must have been good-looking, though. At least, I like to think so. Why not, right? I can make her whatever I want her to be, since she doesn't really exist."