that I was, I thought I could handle anything. I was sure I
could handle _myself_, under any possible conditions. I was going to put
just enough into the act to keep any of these other harpies from getting
her hooks into you. But everything got away from me. Out here working
with you every day--knowing better every day what you are--well, that
_Rigoletto_ episode sunk me, and now I'm in a thousand feet over my
head. I hug my pillow at night, dreaming it's you, and the fact that you
don't and can't love me is driving me mad. I can't stand it any longer.
There's only one thing to do. Fire me first thing in the morning and
send me back to Earth in a torp. You've plenty of grounds ..."

"_Shut--up._"

* * * * *

For seconds Hilton had been trying to break into her hopeless monotone;
finally he succeeded. "The trouble with you is, you know altogether too
damned much that isn't so." He was barely able to keep his voice down
and his eyes front. "What do you think I'm made of--superefract? I
thought the whole performance was an act, to prove you're a better man
than I am. _You_ talk about dreams. Good God! You don't know what dreams
are! If you say one more word about quitting, I'll show you whether I
love you or not--I'll squeeze you so hard it'll flatten you out flat!"

"Two can play at that game, sweetheart." Her nostrils flared slightly;
her fists clenched--if possible--a fraction tighter; and, even in the
distorted medium they were using for speech, she could not subdue
completely her quick change into soaring, lilting buoyancy. "While
you're doing that I'll see how strong your ribs are. Oh, how this
changes things! I've never been half as happy in my whole life as I am
right now!"

"Maybe we can work it--if I can handle my end."

"Why, of course you can! And happy dreams are nice, not horrible."

"We'll make it, darling. Here's an imaginary kiss coming at you. Got
it?"

"Received in good order, thank you. Consumed with gusto and returned in
kind."

The show ended and the two strolled out of the room. She walked no
closer to him than usual, and no farther away from him. She did not
touch him any oftener than she usually did, nor any whit more
affectionately or possessively.

And no watching eyes, not even the more than half hostile eyes of Sandra
Cummings or the sharply analytical eyes of Stella Wing, could detect any
difference whatever in the relationship between worshipful adul