"I won't."
After June was gone, Mary returned to the task of making her face
pretty, but after a moment, she turned from the mirror, leaned back, and
tried to relax. Underneath her dress, her heart was pounding.
The warm air carried sounds of the night creatures. One of the great
canal insects, screeching, flapped by the window. The tiny third moon
crept up over the horizon, and the buildings cast triple shadows.
_Buzzz. Buzzzz._
Still Mary waited.
_Buzzz. Buzzzz. Buzzzzzz...._
She was afraid to wait any longer. But by now she was sure that he would
be down stairs.
There was a last-minute flurry of combing and primping, and then she
rustled out of the room, her head erect, her eyes shining.
* * * * *
The large reception room was filling. Overhead, the color organ threw
shimmering, prismatic beams on the ceiling. Beneath it, stiff,
embarrassed spacemen, mostly officers dressed in parade uniforms,
chatted in space-pidgin with the laughing, rainbow-haired girls.
Miss Bestris sat in one corner, her eyes roving the room: settling here
for a second, there for a second, checking, approving, disapproving,
silently. Occasionally she would smile or nod at one of the girls or one
of the spacemen, and once she frowned ever so slightly and shook her
head.
Anne was reclining on a couch, eating a golden Martian apple, listening
to a second mate; she played with a lock of his hair and smiled her wide
smile.
June, angelic, sat primly in a straight-backed chair, the captain at her
feet, a boyish, space-pale Earthman, drew embarrassed circles on the
carpet with his index finger.
In the next room, three couples were dancing to the slow music of an
Earth orchestra.
An inner door opened, and a uniformed native sheriff stepped in, a
crisp, military figure. "Miss Bestris?"