Marc reflected erratically that this creature, in spite of her loveliness, was surely a traveler from hell; the fires of that region danced unmistakably on the surface of her soft red hair and in the depths of her vivid green eyes. His unbelieving gaze left her pert young face and helplessly traveled the course of her supple body. It was a disturbing trip; unhurried curves moved indolently outward and took their time about coming back. And then, as the girl started forward, Marc glanced up to discover that her gaze had followed his own. He looked away sharply and was aware of a feverish sensation about the neck and cheeks. "There's no need to blush," the girl laughed. "There's every need in the world," Marc said uneasily. "A crying need." "If you're embarrassed," the girl said, "you've no one to blame but yourself." Marc turned back, careful that his gaze went directly to her face and remained there. "Are you trying to suggest that it's my fault that you're naked?" "Of course it is," the girl said. "It's all your fault, now that you bring it up. After all, I'm your exclusive creation. You dreamed me up, curve for curve, line for line, and if the job seems a little immoderate, you should have thought of that sooner." She moved lightly to where he was sitting and lowered herself to the ground beside him. She crossed one slender leg over the other in the manner of a gem broker displaying a stock of crown emeralds on a length of black velvet. "Not that I'm complaining, you understand. Personally, especially after your bug-eyed reaction, I regard myself as a pretty piece of merchandise." * * * * * Marc flinched slightly at the directness of this self-appraisal, but found it hard to find a point of disagreement. Though the girl's nearness had done much to impair his mental processes, he was all too aware of the merchandise at hand and an unspoken invitation to feel the superior quality of the goods. He breathed deeply and edged away. "What do you mean, I dreamed you up?" he asked. The girl sighed despairingly. "I had hoped," she murmured, "that we wouldn't have to waste time on anything so dull as pedigrees. However, I can see that you're the fretful type." She shrugged. "I'm Toffee." She leaned back and gazed at Marc from the corner of her eye with an expression that plainly indicated that she had revealed "all." Marc tried to think. He repeated the name several times to himself. Toffee.... Toffee.... Toffee.... It didn't mean a thing to him.... "Well?" the girl said. "Well?" Marc echoed faintly. The look in her eyes made him warmly uncomfortable.