warmly--the
more warmly because these contributions to the Space Platform came on
top of a personal anxiety on his own account: "You must be the first
girl in the world who thought about housekeeping in space!"

"Girls will be going into space, won't they?" she asked, not looking at
him. "If there are colonies on the other planets, they'll have to. And
some day--to the stars...."

She stood quite still, and Joe wanted to do something about her and the
world and the way he felt. The interior of the Platform was very silent.
Somewhere far away where the glass-wool insulation was incomplete, the
sound of workmen was audible, but the inner corridors of the Platform
were not resonant. They were lined with a material to destroy reminders
that this was merely a metal shell, an artificial world that would swim
in emptiness. Here and now, Joe and Sally seemed very private and alone,
and he felt a sense of urgency.

He looked at her yearningly. Her color was a little higher than usual.
She was not just a nice kid, she was swell! And she was good to look at.
Joe had noticed that before, but now with the memory of her fright
because he'd been in danger, her worry because he might have been
killed, he thought of her very absurd but honest offer to cry for him.

Joe found himself twisting at the ring on his finger. He got it off, and
there was some soot and grease on it from the work he'd been doing. He
knew that she saw what he was about, but she looked away.

"Look, Sally," he said awkwardly, "we've known each other a long time.
I've--uh--liked you a lot. And I've got some things to do first,
but----" He stopped. He swallowed. She turned and smiled at him. "Look,"
he said desperately, "what's a good way to ask if you'd like to wear
this?"

She nodded, her eyes shining a little.

"That was a good way, Joe. I'd like it a lot."

There was an interlude, then, during which she very ridiculously cried
and explained that he must be more careful and not risk his life so
much! And then there was a faint, faint sound outside the Platform. It
was the yapping sound of a siren, crying out in short and choppy
ululations as it warmed up. Finally its note steadied and it wailed and
wailed and wailed.

"That's the alarm," exclaimed Sally. She was still misty-eyed.
"Everybody out of the Shed. Come on, Joe."

They started back the way they'd come in. And Sally looked up at Joe and
grinned suddenly.

"When I have grandchildren," she tol