Miss Bestris sat in one corner, her eyes roving the room: settling here for a second, there for a second, checking, approving, disapproving, silently. Occasionally she would smile or nod at one of the girls or one of the spacemen, and once she frowned ever so slightly and shook her head.
Anne was reclining on a couch, eating a golden Martian apple, listening to a second mate; she played with a lock of his hair and smiled her wide smile.
June, angelic, sat primly in a straight-backed chair, the captain at her feet, a boyish, space-pale Earthman, drew embarrassed circles on the carpet with his index finger.
In the next room, three couples were dancing to the slow music of an Earth orchestra.
An inner door opened, and a uniformed native sheriff stepped in, a crisp, military figure. "Miss Bestris?"
She stood up. "Yes?"
The Earthmen fell silent, waiting.
"We think we have your runaway." He turned to the door. "Bring her in."
Two more sheriffs entered, and between them, there was a young, slender girl. Her face was gaunt and tear-stained. Her body trembled. She looked at the Madame fearfully.
"You idiots!" Miss Bestris screamed. "Get her out of here! You'll ruin my party! Take her out!"