Scyth chuckled again. "Barbara, may I call you Barbara?"
"Oh, now see here—"
"You don't know me?" demanded Scyth with a hurt expression.
"Should I?"
Barbara was beginning to doubt this parley as a program of good sense. As a stage personality, even though far from a universal popularity, she knew very well that a completely dull heart frequently beat lustily beneath an expensive exterior and that a clear, open, friendly face often went with a mind fit only for the company of scorpions.
He saw her doubt and decided that he had played this guessing game long enough. "Barbara Crandall, I know you don't recognize me in these clothes and in this surrounding. Our last meeting was under a rather strange circumstance. I am Scyth Radnor, the Marandanian."
"Scyth Radnor!" she exclaimed. "I—yes, it is. I'm sorry, Scyth. I did not recognize you in human clothing."
"Please," he parried, "Don't say it that way. I am as human as you are."
Barbara looked at him defensively. "And you're here to prove it?"
Scyth blinked. She was rather distractingly direct. "There is no suitable answer to that," he said. "Must I supply one?"