“But kind of attractive, at that, in her own gruesome way, eh?” she finished the thought for him.
“Huh?” Cloud gulped, and, for the first time in years, blushed scarlet; flushed to the tips of his ears.
“I’m sorry, Storm, believe me. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you—in fact, I know very well I wasn’t—but I’ve simply got to. It isn’t fair not to; besides, I’ve thought all along that Lensman Strong was wrong—that we’d go faster and farther if you knew than if you didn’t.”
“Oh—that’s what Phil was holding out on me back there? I thought there was something fishy, but couldn’t spot it.”
“I was sure you did. So was Phil. You told me what the Tomingans call telepaths—snoopers? I like that word; it’s so beautifully appropriate. Well, I’m snooping all the time. Not only while we’re working, as you thought, but all the time, especially when you’re relaxed and . . . and off-guard, so to speak. I’ve been doing it ever since I first met you.”
Cloud blushed again. “So you knew exactly what I was thinking just then? You gave me a remarkably poor play-back.”
“The portrait was much too flattering. But we’ll skip that. Part of my job is to make a telepath out of you, so that you can show me with your mind—it can’t be done in words or symbols—what it is that makes a mathematical prodigy tick.”
“How are you figuring on going about it?”
“I don’t know—yet.”
“Phil tried, and so did a couple of Gray Lensmen, and I wasn’t holding back a thing . . . oh, he emphasized that you’re a self-made telepath. A different angle of approach? How did you operate on yourself?”