"If you're going to start making passes at me," the girl said, propping herself up on one elbow, "I think I ought to say right now that there will be the usual hollow pretense of resistance." She smiled slowly. "But my heart won't be half in it, and that's a fact." She reached down and smoothed the tunic over the curve of her perfectly formed hip. "I just thought I'd mention it." "Oh, my gosh!" Marc gasped. "Do I understand you correctly?" "If you don't," the girl said with a twinge of impatience, "I might as well pick up my drawing pencils and go home. Why are we wasting all this time and energy?" "Don't you have any repressions at all?" Marc asked. "Of course not," the girl answered. "That's the way you made me." "The way I made you?" The girl nodded and leaned toward him. "I told you, I'm Toffee." She studied his face for a moment, then sat up. "Say, don't you recognize me?" "I've never set eyes on you before in my life," Marc said emphatically. "Maybe that's because I don't habitually frequent burlesque theatres." "Now, look here, you withered old goat!" A flame of annoyance flickered brightly in the green eyes. "Just where do you get off, making cracks like that? I've been in the back of your mind for years. You've dreamed me up, hip, thigh and shoulder, just the way I am. Don't think you're going to get away with pretending you're above it all now." Realization blanked Marc's expression. "You mean you're a product of my subconscious mind?" "Now you're getting it," the girl said. She swept a hand at the slopes behind them. "This is the valley of your mind. I've been languishing in this trap for years. If I've grown a little eager in the meantime, it's only natural. It puts an awful strain on a girl to have what I've got with no market for outlet. I'm just a bundle of frozen assets." * * * * * Marc smiled, and his manner became a bit less constrained. "Then all this is only a dream, and you're strictly an imaginary figure." "You could put it that way," the girl nodded. However, there was a note of reservation in her voice. "Of course, it works two ways really. You might say that you're only in my imagination too. Up till now, that is." She surveyed his sprawled length with critical interest. "And, believe me, you're getting all the best of the bargain. If I'm a dream come true, you're a moaning nightmare. I'll bet you're nothing but a mess of knobs and angles under those baggy clothes of yours." "We'll just skip my knobs and angles," Marc said distantly, "if you don't mind." "I do mind," the girl said, looking a trifle alarmed. "I mind like all get-out. Why should I want to skip the awful things? Do you mean I'm to pick them up all in a string and play jump rope with them?" She shuddered delicately. "Is that what you have in mind?"