"What do you mean?"
"I mean if you go, we're through. That's all."
Bart blinked, his face pale. I could see his knuckles whitening on the arms of the chair. "Marny, it's only a trip—"
She was shaking her head, and her lower lip trembled. Her voice was weak, and very, very tired. "No, Bart, not just a trip. A dozen trips, or a thousand. It wouldn't make any difference." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Bart. I couldn't do it. Across the country, across the ocean, yes. But space—no, I couldn't."
"But you aren't being reasonable!" he exploded. "You act as though it's the end of everything, as if a trip to Mars was something to get excited about—look, Marny. We love each other—you know that, and I know it, too. We could be married—this week, right away—I wouldn't be going for at least six or eight months—why, I might not even make it at all! The tests aren't over, this was just the first screening, and I could flunk in a hundred thousand different ways—"
"But you'd pass," she burst out. "You know you would. And then you'd go, and go, and go—what kind of marriage would that be? What about a home, or children? Oh, Bart, you know what happened to the others! You'll die, you'll be killed—think of it! You don't know what you'd find out there, and I couldn't stand it—" She looked up at him, and her eyes were full of tears and bitterness. "It wouldn't be a marriage, Bart. It couldn't be."
Bart looked up at me, his eyes pleading. "Tell her, Ben—oh, tell her, somehow—I can't, I don't know how—" He broke off, and walked to the far side of the room, his whole body trembling—"You're not being reasonable," he broke out hotly. "You've got to see—"
"Take me home, Bart." The girl stood up trembling.
"But Marny—"
Something in her eyes cut him off, and he took her coat, helped her into it almost savagely. "It's stupid," he said angrily. "It's stupid and unreasonable—"