Marc could hardly believe his eyes. He had turned to Toffee only to observe one of the most astonishing and upsetting things he had ever witnessed. Before his very gaze, her new dress was slowly dissolving into nothing. Already, the skirt had melted away to her thighs.
"Holy smoke!" Marc gasped. Then, feeling that affairs were rapidly going too far, he looked quickly away. He fixed his eyes firmly on a female manniquin costumed for tennis.
"What's the matter with you?" Toffee demanded.
"Your dress ..." Marc said weakly.
"My dress?" Toffee said. "What's the matter with my dress? I thought you liked it."
Marc opened his mouth to answer, but the words refused to come; suddenly he was confronted by still another cause for alarm. The phenomenon that had so mysteriously struck Toffee had now transferred itself to the manniquin. As he stared at it, the clothes began to fade from its plaster torso with unbelievable rapidity.
"Good heavens!" Marc rasped. "Look at that!"
"Look at what?" Toffee said, staring at the manniquin. "What are you carrying on so about?"
Marc took a breath. "Don't you see anything funny about that dummy?"
Toffee observed the dummy more closely. "Very dull," she said. "No sex appeal. Maybe it's those shorts she's wearing."