Norman limply followed her inside, collapsed on a chair.
"You were wonderful," she cried. "I never would have thought of that.
It explained everything, even our confusion."
He began to feel rather proud of himself. He glanced about the girl's
room. It was similar to Vermeer's except that it was not so tidy. Gauzy
white undergarments of finest spun microweb lay on the chairs. He
recognized a tiny vial of Venusian perfume on the dresser surrounded
by a litter of brushes, mirrors, combs. There was a picture of a tall
elderly man in a uniform.
"That's papa," exclaimed Jennifer.
"I wish I knew what that suit was used for," said Norman thoughtfully.
"I've never seen anything like it before."
"You know," said the girl seating herself on the edge of the bed,
"you're not like most Earth men. You're not stodgy and patronizing.
You're cute."
He felt ridiculously pleased. He was convinced that he'd never met a
more intelligent, a more charming, a more beautiful girl than Jennifer
Scott. He said, "I've had to revise all my opinions of Outlanders since
I met you."
Jennifer laughed, jumped to her feet. Stooping over, she kissed him
lightly. "That's for a very pretty compliment. Now let's get back to
the dance before I lose all my maidenly modesty."