He stopped convulsively, almost in midstride, and at the rigid, absent awareness in his eyes Nurse MacDougall's face went white.
"This is not merely the loose and muddy thinking of which you have all too frequently been guilty in the past," the deeply resonant, soundless voice went on, "it is simply not thinking at all. At times, Kinnison of Tellus, we almost despair of you. Think, youth, think! For know, Lensman, that upon the clarity of your thought and upon the trueness of your perception depends the whole future of your Patrol and of your Civilization; more so now by far than at any time in the past."
"Wha'dy'mean, 'think'?" Kinnison snapped back, thoughtlessly. His mind was a seething turmoil, his emotions an indescribable blend of surprise, puzzlement and incredulity.
For moments, as Mentor did not reply, the Gray Lensman's mind raced. Incredulity—becoming tinged with apprehension—turning rapidly into rebellion.
"Oh, Kim!" Clarrissa choked. A queer-enough tableau they made, these two, had any been there to see; the two uniformed figures standing there so strainedly, the nurse's two hands gripping those of the Lensman. She, completely en rapport with him, had understood his every fleeting thought. "Oh, Kim! They can't do that to us—"
"I'll say they can't!" Kinnison flared. "By Klono's tungsten teeth, I won't do it! We have a right to happiness, you and I, and we'll—"
"We'll what?" she asked, quietly. She knew what they had to face; and, strong-souled woman that she was, she was quicker to face it squarely than was he. "You were just blasting off, Kim, and so was I."
"I suppose so," glumly. "Why in all the nine hells of Valeria did I have to be a Lensman? Why couldn't I have stayed a—"
"Because you are you," the girl interrupted, gently. "Kimball Kinnison, the man I love. You couldn't do anything else." Chin up, she was fighting gamely. "And if I rate Lensman's Mate I can't be a sissy, either. It won't last forever, dear. Just a little longer to wait, that's all."
Eyes, steel-gray now, stared down into eyes of tawny, gold-flecked bronze. "QX, Chris? Really QX?" What a world of meaning there was in that cryptic question!