"Well, if they should happen to be stupid and prejudiced—"
"I'm that stupid and prejudiced! I wouldn't let a Martian in my house! They're the scum of the Solar System!"
"Dad, I won't listen to you talk like that."
"What do you want to do—be the wife of a janitor?" he went on relentlessly. "Porters and janitors, that's all they're fit for."
"If they were ever given a chance—"
"A chance? What would they do with it? Loaf around dreamily, get nowhere. Nowhere at all! And pull us down to their level while they're fouling up our civilization!"
Joyce stood up, her hands trembling.
"You're not going to Mars!" Harley shouted. "You're not going, you hear? You're staying right here on earth!"
"I'm afraid," she said unsteadily, "that you're too late. I already have my ticket. I expected you'd make a fuss. My—my trunk is at the spaceport. Nothing can stop me now, Dad."
"I'll stop you. You'll never marry that scum. By God, if I have to take it to the Panterrestrial Court—"