Himself?
It was no male Martian who stood shyly smiling at the assembled Earthmen, but a girl. Her long, almond-shaped eyes were sloe-black and lustrous, modestly concealed beneath lowered lids which rested like velvet fringes upon soft cheeks of palest amber sheen. Her hair was black and glossy, gathered up from a shapely neck and piled high upon her head in an elaborate but striking coiffure.
Looking at her, Gary Lane was stricken with admiration for the gentle charm and beauty of Martian women. She was, he thought swiftly, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen—well, the second most beautiful, anyway. His betraying eyes sought reassurance with a glance at Nora Powell, and when his gaze met hers he colored faintly.
Flick Muldoon, a dependable barometer of feminine pulchritude, gulped audibly and might have whistled his admiration had not Hugh Warren, jabbing him severely in the ribs, jolted the pucker from his lips. But it was upon Lark O'Day whom the sight of the girl had its most devastating effect. The handsome corsair's eyes widened in frank admiration; a spark lighted within their moss-brown depths, and his lips parted.
Young Dr. Lane began his tale.
"Well, you see, sir—"
The Martian said, "My name is Kang Tsao. And this is my daughter, Pen-N'hi."
The Earthmen introduced themselves swiftly. Then again Gary embarked on the telling of his oft-told tale.
Here in this quiet room, on one of the solar system's tiniest satellites, he found his most attentive audience. The old Martian listened gravely, attentively. When he had finished, Kang Tsao said, "I find this a strange, but not incredible narrative, Dr. Lane. You mentioned proof; mathematical computations. Might I see those proofs?"