"Captain O'Neil's bride, as well as being innocent and ignorant, strikes me as having been a good deal of a sissy, something of a weeping willow, and no little of a shrinking violet. Tell me, Kim, do you think that she would have made good as a sector chief nurse?"
"No, but that's neither here—"
"It is, too," she interrupted. "You've got to consider what I did, and that it's no job for a girl with a weak stomach. Besides, the Boh's head took the fabled Mrs. O'Neil by surprise. She didn't know that her husband used to be in the wholesale mayhem-and-killing business. I do.
"And lastly, you big lug, do you think that I'd be making such barefaced passes at you—playing the brazen hussy this way—unless I was very, very certain of the truth?"
"Huh?" he demanded, blushing furiously. "I thought that you were running a blazer on me before—you really do know, then, that—" He would not say it, even then.
"Of course I know!" She nodded; then, as the man spread his hands helplessly, she abandoned her attempts to keep the conversation upon a light level.
"I know, my dear; there is nothing we can do about it yet." Her voice was unsteady, her heart in every word. "You have to do your job, and I honor you for that, too; even if it does take you from me. It will be easier for you, though, I think, and I know that it will be easier for me, to have us both know the truth. Whenever you are ready, Kim, I'll be here—or somewhere—waiting. Clear ether, Gray Lensman!" and, rising to her feet, she turned back toward the hospital.
"Clear ether, Chris!" Unconsciously he used the pet name by which he had thought of her so much. He stared after her for a minute, hungrily. Then, squaring his shoulders, he strode away.
And upon far Jarnevon Eichmil, the First of Boskone, was conferring with Jalte via communicator. Long since, the Kalonian had delivered through devious channels the message of Boskone to an imaginary director of Lensmen; long since he had transmitted this cryptically direful reply: