"Should she be slender?" interrupted Kalora, leaning toward him.
"Sure. I don't mean the same width all the way up and down, like an art student, but trim and—Here, I'll show you. You will find the pictures of the most beautiful women in the world right here in the ads of a ten-cent magazine. Look them over and you will understand what I mean."
He turned page after page and showed her the tapering goddesses of the straight front, the tooth-powder, the camera, the breakfast-food, the massage-cream, and the hair-tonic.
"These are what you call beautiful women?" she asked.
"These are about the limit."
"Then in your country I would not be considered hideous, would I?"
"Hideous? Say, if you ever walked up Fifth Avenue you would block the traffic! And in the palm-garden at the Waldorf—why, you and the head waiter would own the place! Are you trying to string me by asking such questions? Are you a real ingénue, or a kidder?"
"I hardly know what you mean, but I assure you that here in Morovenia they laugh at me because I am not fat."
"This is a shine country, and you're in wrong, little girl," said Mr. Pike, in a kindly tone. "Why don't you duck?"
"Duck?"