"Naturally, Mr. Cornith," the blonde commented a trifle bitterly. "Your requirements demand that, even though it is thought by some members of the Foundation that you were in a facetious mood when you took the Levet examination. They suspect that you implanted a large number of suggestions prior to the event, to bias your responses in a manner not in keeping with the seriousness of the occasion. That is not a problem for this department. We have provided you with a woman who fulfills every requirement stated—"
"She's underweight," Cornith insisted.
"Does she look too thin?"
"No! She's perfect. But she lacks an ounce—"
Smack! A small white hand struck Cornith's cheek resoundingly and brought the blood stinging to the surface. He almost dropped the girl. She got her long, slender legs under her and supported her own weight. Smack! Another small hand caught Cornith stingingly on the other cheek. He drew a deep breath, felt his muscles contracting.
"Now, now, Mr. Cornith!" the blonde warned. "The specifications demand that your wife shall have plenty of fire."
"That doesn't give her a right to knock my head off," Cornith blustered. "Besides, she's not my wife!"
"Are you hurt, darling?" Lucy Hollowell said sympathetically. "I'm sorry! Here! Let me kiss your cheeks and make them well."
"What th—?"