Little Miss Grouch | Page 9

I didn't notice you in the crowd."
She gave him a long look of mock-pathetic reproach from under drooped lids. "Oh, false and faithless cavalier. You've forgotten me. Already!"
"Once seeing you, I couldn't forget you in ten thousand years," he cried. "There's some mistake. I don't know you."
Her laughter rippled about him like the play of sunlight made audible.
"Oh, antidote to vanity, look at me," she commanded.
"It's the very easiest task ever man was set to," he asserted with such earnestness that the color rose in her cheeks.
"Before I vanish forever, I'll give you your chance. Come! Who am I? One--two--thuh-ree-ee."
"Wait! You're Titania. You're an Undine of the Atlantic. You're the White Hope, becomingly tinged with pink, of American Womanhood. You're the Queen of Hearts and all the rest of the trumps in the deck. You are also Cleopatra, and, and--Helen of Troy. But above all, of course, to me you are the Sphinx."
"And you," she remarked, "are a Perfect Pig. 'The pig is a praiseworthy character. The pig suffereth--'"
"Little Miss Grouch!" The words burst from him with the propulsive energy of total amazement. The next instant he was submerged in shame.
"I never saw anyone's ears turn scarlet before," she observed, with delicate and malicious appreciation of the phenomenon.
"It's a symptom of the last decay of the mind. But are you really the--the runaway girl?"
"I really am, thanks to your help."
"But you look so totally different."
"Well," she reminded him. "You said you probably wouldn't recognize me when you saw me again."
"I don't wholly believe in you yet. How did you work the miracle?"
"Not a miracle at all. I just took the advice of a chance acquaintance and cheered up."
"Then please stay cheered up and keep this shape. I like it awfully."
"It's very hard to be cheerful when one is forgotten overnight," she complained.
"There's some excuse for me. You didn't have on this--this angel-cloth dress; and you looked so--"
"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."
Little Miss Grouch stamped her little French heel. As it landed the