"I never knew you could paint. I've always thought that aside from being a philosopher, you were a poet," Marie remarked after seeing Tom's paintings covered with cloth, his easel and brushes, and pastel paints neatly arranged in one place.

"I only understand poets and poetry when I'm in love," Tom declared. "Anyway, come and see your beloved painter's other canvasses." She led her into his painter's nook. It was like a sitting room. In essence, it was an introduction to his bedroom. The frames were artistically arranged on one wall. All were covered with white cloth. Tom pulled them one by one and introduced them to Marie. "Flowers in Still Life. The Moon in the Offing. Lovers by a Flower Base. Plato in Abstract." In every painting uncovered, Marie gasped with utter amazement.

"Aren't we to see that one alone in that corner?" Marie asked.

"It's only for the eyes of the one who's on it."

"Whose eyes are they? Laura Mars?" she laughed. "What's its title? I guess you've named it: 'Guess Whose Eyes?'."

"Yours, Marie," Tom said without humor but smiled.