"Loki," the god's wife said sharply, speaking for the first time, "you promised to keep out of politics."
"But this isn't politics, honey," Loki said. "It's romance. In a way, it's legitimately part of my business. If love is a fire kindled in the heart, then surely the god of fire can concern himself with it. Tell me, Kevan MacGreene, is there anything in your mortal world which Thor might consider flattering to himself?"
Kevan thought for a minute and then suddenly remembered something. "I believe so," he said. "One of the days of our week is called Thursday. I believe that it was originally named after Thor."
"Just the thing. When you leave here—wait, do you come from a particular province in the mortal world?"
"Not exactly a province. I'm from New York City in America. It's the largest and greatest city in the world, located, I might add, in the greatest country in the world."
"Of course," Loki said amiably. "Now, when you leave here you will stop at the first station you come to and send Thor a ravengram. You'll tell him that you're the American ambassador and—"
"But I couldn't say that," protested Kevan. "It's not true."
Loki encouraged him. "You're an American, aren't you?"
"Yes."