"For a couple who are going to get married," I said, grinning at her, "it's time we made a little love, Pheola."
She squinted myopically at me, not sure if I were serious. "I thought you weren't going...." she started.
"I'm not," I assured her. "I'm talking about our special kind of love. Know what I mean?"
She shook her head doubtfully as I took her wrap and hung it in the closet.
"Let's face a couple facts," I said, as I led her to the sofa and we sat down. She squeezed up close to me, so that our knees were touching. "I believe in you. I've told you that I have seen you predict the future. More than that, I have felt you cure me. But precognition is hard to prove, and if we are going to get you into the Lodge, I think we had better stick to Maragon's advice and work on your healing powers. It's Maragon you'll have to convince. He's the last word."
"I know," she said, wriggling her skinny knees against me. "And it scares me."
"Maybe it should," I said, trying to draw away a bit. "Your life won't be your own once your have been admitted to one of the degrees. But life in a Psi society has its compensations.
"Now, look at it this way," I went on. "Whether you meant to or not, you have staked your reputation as a PC on a prediction that our Grand Master will suffer a heart attack."
"He will!" she cut in.