.

"Talking to myself," George grinned. The old excitement was inside of
him. There was a kind of exotic quality in meeting Gistla that never
disappeared.

She crossed the clearing, not too gracefully, and touched her fingers
against his hand. This had been the extent of their physical expression
of love.

"It is nice to see you, George."

He noticed his feeling of pleasure when he heard her speak his name.
There was something about his own name being spoken by Gistla that had
always seemed even more strange than anything else.

She sat down beside him, and they looked at each other while the leaves
whispered around them and the birds fluttered and chirped. He discovered
again the feeling of rightness, sitting beside Gistla. There was a
solidity about her, a quiet maturity that he seemed able to feel in
himself only when he was with her. And that too was strange, because in
American terms of age, she was much younger than he.

Sitting, as they were doing, silent, watching each other, had been most
of their activity. You did not need to entertain Gistla with foolish
small-talk or exaggerated praising.

But right now he wanted to tell her quickly, to make sure that she would
feel the enthusiasm he had felt.

"Listen, Gistla," he said, while she watched him with her soft-looking
round eyes. "I want you to come with me today to meet my family."

His words seemed to have an odd ring to them, and George waited tensely
until he was sure that she was not shocked or angry about what he had
just said.

She sat silently for a moment and then she said, "Do you think that is
right for me to do, George?"

"Sure it is! Why not? They know about you and me. They know we're in
love."

"Love--" She spoke the word as though it were an indefinite, elusive
thing that you could not offer as reason for doing anything.

Gistla was very wise, George realized, but this was a time for
enthusiasm, a time to strengthen their own relationship in this world.

"Say you will!" George said.

"Do you want me to?"

"Well, sure I do. What did you think?"

She held her hands in her lap quietly. They were not unlike his own,
George observed, except for the extreme smallness and the color.

"I do not think it will be nice for you or them," she said.

"Ah, listen, Gistla. Don't talk that way. It'll be fine!" But he knew
that he was not deceiving her with the lightness he tried to put into
his voice.

Then, although she had never done