"Dowdy," she put in promptly. "So you said--quite loud." "Be merciful! I never did really get a good look at you, you know. Just the tip of your nose--" "Red." "Help! And a glimpse of your face through a mess of veils--" "Such a mess of a face." "Spare my life! How can I apologize properly when you--" "You're beyond all apology. Couldn't you at least recognize my voice? I'm supposed, in spite of my facial defects, to have rather a pleasant voice." "But, you see, you didn't do anything but whisper--" "And blubber. It isn't a pretty word, but I have it on good authority." "I'll commit suicide by any method you select." She regarded thoughtfully her downcast victim, and found him good to look at. "So you prefer me in this form, do you?" she taunted. "Infinitely. It couldn't be improved on. So if you've any more lightning changes up your sleeve, don't spring 'em. What does this particular manifestation of your personality call itself?" "Little Miss Grouch." "Don't be vengeful." "Niobe, then." "That was the changeling." "At any rate, it isn't Amy, short for amiability. To you I shall continue to be Little Miss Grouch until further notice." "Is that my punishment?" "Part of it." "Well, I can stand it if you can," he declared recklessly. "What's the rest?" "I think," she said, after deliberating with herself, "that I shall sentence you to slavery. You are to be at my beck and call until you've attained a proper pitch of repentance and are ready to admit that I'm not as hopelessly homely as you told your friend." "Homely!" cried the harassed youth. "I think you're the most wond--hum!" He broke off, catching himself just in time. "You say this slavery business is to last until I make my recantation?" he inquired cunningly. "At least." He assumed a judicial pose. "Calls for consideration. Would you mind tilting the face a little to the left?" "Gracious! Another artist? Mr. Flaunt has been plaguing me all the morning to sit to him." "No, I'm not an artist. Simply a connoisseur. Now that I look more closely, your eyebrows are slanted a full degree too much to the north." "My nurse was a Jap. Do you think Oriental influence could account for it?" she asked anxiously. "And at the corner of your mouth there is a most reprehensible dimple. Dimples like that simply ought not to be allowed. As for your nose--" "Never mind my nose," said she with dignity. "It minds its own business." "No," he continued, with the air of one who sums up to a conclusion. "I cannot approve the _tout ensemble_. It's interesting. And peculiar. And suggestive. But too post-impressionistic." "That is quite enough about me. Suppose you change the subject now and account for yourself." "I? Oh, I came along to frustrate the plots of a wicked father." "He isn't a wicked father! And I didn't ask you why you're here. I want to know who you are!" "I'm the Perfect Pig."