By the time Miss Green indicated to him that she wanted the light turned out again, he had finished his second drink and was feeling rather benevolent. She had used up all her sand, and about a square foot of the table's surface was covered now with a confusingly intricate maze of lines, into which she had placed white pebbles here and there. Some of the lines, Mel noticed, blended into each other, while others stopped abruptly or curved back on themselves. As a decorative scheme, it hardly seemed worthwhile.
"Miss Green," he told her thoughtfully, "I hope it makes sense to you. It doesn't to me."
She piped imperiously, pointing: the light! Mel had a moment of annoyance at the way she was ordering him around in his own apartment.
"Well," he said, "I'll humor you this time."
For a moment after he had pulled the switch, he stood beside the table to let his eyes adjust to the dark. However, they weren't adjusting properly—a patch of unquiet phosphorescent glimmering floated disturbingly within his field of vision, and as the seconds passed, it seemed to be growing stronger.
Suddenly, Mel swore in amazement and bent down to examine the table.
"Now what have you done—?" he began.
Miss Green fluted soothingly at him from the dark and fluttered up to his shoulder. He felt a cool touch against his ear and cheek, and a burst of oddly pleasant tinglings ran over his scalp.
"Stop that!" he said, startled.
Miss Green fluted again, urgently. She was trying to tell him something now, and suddenly he thought he understood.