“Yes, you are right. I came home from school one day with the imprint of a pair of cupid’s bows on my cheek, much to the merriment of my sister. And those ‘bows’ weren’t left there by a city girl, either. She was a country lass, whose parents had sent her to school in New York.” “And from then on you were a lady’s man?” “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. It’s all a question of viewpoint. In fact it was just such misunderstanding that changed my career. I wanted to be an artist--a painter and sculptor. I had a great liking for that and a certain amount of talent. But my parents, misunderstanding my fondness for the feminine sex, talked me out of it. They were sure I would never succeed as an artist--my time, they said, would be more occupied with my models than with my brush. Perhaps they were right, one never can tell.” “But I believe you would have made a good artist.” “How do you know?” Carl smiled. “Well, one can easily see that you are fond of beauty and harmony--as for the rest, well, I can tell.” “Really?” “Yes. My father taught me character reading. Besides my mother showed me how to read the palm.” Carl stretched forth his hand to have her read the lines, but Sana changed the subject: “But we are drifting away from our topic--comparing the New York girl with others. Comparing them with girls of other American cities they are found to be much alike. But when you compare her with a European girl--ah, then you see the difference.” “Such a comparison should be interesting. Let me have your candid opinion.” “First of all, take the French girl. She is a natural charmer with a lovely body. She knows how to attract male companions, gives them precisely what they desire and then applies her knowledge and ambition to controlling the male. That she does is well known. That is the Parisienne. France like all countries has a great variety of women. She has the country girl and the city girl, and if a comparison is to be made it must be between the country girl of France and the country lass of America, between the Parisienne and the New Yorker. “Then consider the English, or rather the Anglo-Saxon women. Their beauty is marred by the largeness of the features. Their feet are also large. The English woman, as records show, is at the top in the average size of shoes. She is there with number seven and a half; American women, with number seven, come second; German, six and a half; France, six; Spain, five and a half, and South America with number five. As your country is made up of all nationalities, the majority of them are German, then the Irish and thirdly English, it is but logical that the German element in your country caused the reduction--giving your women a number seven shoe as the average size. The limbs and features of English women are angular, rawboned so to speak. They are loose-fleshed and their dress--frightful. While there are, of course, quite a few exceptions, they, on the most part, cannot stand inspection.