"Wait! You're Titania. You're an Undine of the Atlantic. You're the White Hope, becomingly tinged with pink, of American Womanhood. You're the Queen of Hearts and all the rest of the trumps in the deck. You are also Cleopatra, and, and—Helen of Troy. But above all, of course, to me you are the Sphinx."
"And you," she remarked, "are a Perfect Pig. 'The pig is a praiseworthy character. The pig suffereth—'"
"Little Miss Grouch!" The words burst from him with the propulsive energy of total amazement. The next instant he was submerged in shame.
"I never saw anyone's ears turn scarlet before," she observed, with delicate and malicious appreciation of the phenomenon.
"It's a symptom of the last decay of the mind. But are you really the—the runaway girl?"
"I really am, thanks to your help."
"But you look so totally different."
"Well," she reminded him. "You said you probably wouldn't recognize me when you saw me again."
"I don't wholly believe in you yet. How did you work the miracle?"
"Not a miracle at all. I just took the advice of a chance acquaintance and cheered up."