She was lying down on the sofa. She loved the Louis-Phillipe décor. A tall, slim figure emerged from the shadow. "Is the dress to your liking?" it asked. "Well, yes, it's lovely. Thank you!" She smiled. Then her lips fell. "But... it's baby blue. If it were black, we'd match! I'm not saying you've made the wrong choice, it's just that I love the way you dress. And the way you look! So slender! I'll never do justice to you physically... I've been too, uh... indulgent. I'll never even be one percent as smart or as talented as you! And I'll ALWAYS be annoying! And here I am complaining about myself! You probably have so many more REAL problems!" He grinned, but she couldn't see; he was in the darkness again. "Listen, I don't like to be pitied or praised. And there is nothing wrong with you, in fact you amuse me..."
He was just catching his breath, but in came the poor young lady: "I want to stay, but I don't want to be a burden. Listen, I won't eat, barely at all! And I won't talk unless you tell me to! I'll work for you. Do anything you say. You can teach me how to sing if you want. Don't ever feel obligated to do anything for me, though! I'm your loving slave, but I'll leave if you want me to." She sighed. "Listen," said the figure, "I told you I didn't need you to worship me, just respect me. There's nothing wrong with being indulgent, as you say. I want you to be yourself. I'll bring you whatever you want. The only time you shouldn't talk is when I'm busy, composing or when I tell you. You're good-looking, did you know that? Sweet and soft and supple. And it's not like it means anything. I'll teach you, for sure." She was crying. "Ah, jeeze, mistah, you really are swell!" The man came closer. "You're American. I knew the second I heard your voice. I know which style suits you. It has always been an old fancy of mine to tutour a child like you."