Max sat brooding over the dials and meters at his end of the laboratory, apparently sunk in thought. When Len had gone, he spoke almost harshly.
"Why encourage the guy? Why let him hope?"
"Found out anything about the differences in protoplasm?" she evaded.
"Why let him kid himself? What chance has he got against that hunk of muscle and smooth talk?"
"But Pat isn't after Elsie," she protested.
"Every scatter-brained woman on this ship is trailing after Pat with her tongue hanging out. Brant St. Clair is in the bar right now. He doesn't say what he is drinking about, but do you think Pat is resisting all these women crowding down on him?"
"There are other things besides looks and charm," she said, grimly trying to concentrate on a slide under her binocular microscope.
"Yeah, and whatever they are, Pat has them, too. Who's more competent to support a woman and a family on a frontier planet than a handsome bruiser who was born here?"
"I meant," June spun around on her stool with unexpected passion, "there is old friendship, and there's fondness, and memories, and loyalty!" She was half shouting.