The cat came over promptly and rubbed his head against Jims' knee. Jims stroked him delightedly; how lovely his soft fur felt and his round velvety head.
"I like cats," explained Jims, "and I have nothing but a gobbler. This is such a Very Handsome Cat. What is his name, please?"
"Black Prince. He loves me," said the lady. "He always comes to my bed in the morning and wakes me by patting my face with his paw. He doesn't mind my being ugly."
She spoke with a bitterness Jims couldn't understand.
"But you are not ugly," he said.
"Oh, I am ugly—I am ugly," she cried. "Just look at me—right at me. Doesn't it hurt you to look at me?"
Jims looked at her gravely and dispassionately.
"No, it doesn't," he said. "Not a bit," he added, after some further exploration of his consciousness.
Suddenly the lady laughed beautifully. A faint rosy flush came into her unscarred cheek.
"James, I believe you mean it."