"I'm sorry I started it all," said Westervelt. "How about letting me buy you a lunch to make up."
Beryl shrugged, looking serious.
"I don't mind, if we make it Dutch. It was as much my fault. I hope we're both around to go to lunch tomorrow. It gives me the creeps."
"What does?" asked Westervelt.
"The way Mr. Lydman looks. Something about his eyes...."
Westervelt turned his head to stare across the room, wondering if the worst had occurred.
[SEVENTEEN]
John Willard set a brisk pace through the streets of First Haven, as befitted a conscientious public servant. Maria Ringstad kept up with him as best she could. When she lagged, the thin cord tightened around her wrist, and he grumbled over his shoulder at her. Naturally, she carried her bag.
He had explained that they would have been most inconspicuous with her walking properly a yard behind him. Anyone would then have taken them for man and wife or man and servant—had it not been for her Terran clothing.