Carole waved jauntily. She took Winstead by the elbow.
"That was Wilfie," she explained. "We'll be getting married if we can ever get our job shifts straightened out. I hope I didn't make him late, poor boy—it was his only chance to see me until tomorrow."
Winstead was hardly aware of having been steered into an elevator. When they reached the second floor, Carole led him a few steps along the hall. She used a simple light-key to open an apartment door. Winstead followed her inside wordlessly.
"Let me take your bag," she said. "In here is the bedroom. I'll bet you didn't have that much room on the spaceship."
"Well...."
"Now let's go in the kitchen and see what we can get you for dinner. I might as well feed you, since I figure to charge you fifty credits for the night."
Winstead remained silent by a considerable effort.
He wondered what his expression showed. Carole did not seem to notice anything. She prattled on about the folly of trying to find a room in one of the few hotels boasted by the city of Junction. Most of them, she claimed, would be full of carousing spacers. Meanwhile, she rummaged through a frozen food unit.
Winstead agreed to something in a foil package without knowing what. She popped it into an automatic infra-red heater. He allowed himself to be led by the hand to a large chair in the living room.
"There's the entertainment program for the TV," she told him. "Not that we have much here—most of it is old tapes from Terra. Make yourself comfortable while I change."