"But it's an attractive landscape and not negligible," she insisted, still poking for elusive olives. "Your simile is at fault, Monsieur O'Ryan."
"Thusis," said I, gravely consuming a sandwich, "you have made fun of me ever since I laid eyes on you."
"You began it."
"How?"
"You made fun of my red hair."
"It is beautiful hair."
"Indeed?"
"You know it. You know perfectly well how pretty you are."
"Señor!"
"In fact," said I, offering myself another sandwich, "you are unusually ornamental. I concede it. I even admit that you resemble The Laughing Girl."