Beatrice nodded.
“Yes, I know!” she whispered. “How could I forget it? And to think that for a thousand years the moon's been shining just the same, and nobody--”
“Yes, but is it the same?” interrupted Stern suddenly, his practical turn of mind always reasserting itself. “Don't you see a difference? You remember the old-time face in the moon, of course. Where is it now? The moon always presented only one side, the same side, to us in the old days. How about it now? If I'm not mistaken, things have shifted up there. We're looking now at some other face of it. And if that's so it means a far bigger disarrangement of the solar system and the earth's orbit and lots of things than you or I suspect!
“Wait till we get back to New York for half a day, and visit the tower and gather up our things. Wait till I get hold of my binoculars again! Perhaps some of these questions may be resolved. We can't go on this way, surrounded by perpetual puzzles, problems, mysteries! We must--”
“Do nothing but rest now!” she dictated with mock severity.
Stern laughed.
“Well, you're the boss,” he answered, and leaned back against the oak. “Only, may I propound one more question?”
“Well, what is it?”
“Do you see that dark patch in the sky? Sort of a roughly circular hole in the blue, as it were--right there?” He pointed. “Where there aren't any stars?”
“Why--yes. What about it?”