"Uh-huh." Christy leaned forward. "What is it, Bill? You haven't been
yourself for weeks. You looked haggard yesterday and when you left the
ship you were almost running, as if trying to escape from something.
And now this strange avoidance of Tom. He got hold of me this morning
early, wanting to know where you were. And I guess it's pretty
important that he sees you, Bill. Seems there's been trouble at the
field."
It was as if someone had prodded him in an agonizingly sore place and
he reacted instinctively. He let his knife clatter on his plate, aware
that he was dramatizing himself.
"When I'm ready for a woman's sticking her nose into my affairs, I'll
send her a special invitation!"
Christy's delicate nostrils flared, and her bosom rose and fell
rapidly. Then she seemed to get hold of herself. "I'm sorry if you got
that impression, Bill. I was only trying to help you both."
Cherishing his irritation, Bill went on, "Seems to me you're bending
over backward helping Tom, playing messenger, private eye--"
Christy broke in with a catch in her throat, "Oh, Bill, please! Let's
not quarrel as soon as we get back."
Bill shoved his dishes aside, the tone of her voice reaching into him
to dampen down the fires of anger. Then he managed a slow faint grin.
"Okay, Christy." He reached for the check, saying, "Well, if you can
stand my company, would you like to come along out to the field?"