"Eavesdrop?" I chuckled. "There was nothing private about my question. Go ask yours. I'll wait out of earshot."
"I haven't any," she answered with a smile. "I come here often just for the mood. This place feels like a temple; as if God and all nature were here. George isn't much of all that, but he seems the best contact. Now, shall we both laugh?"
"Let's feel awed and humble, instead," I replied.
After a pause, I asked lightly: "George, is it all right for Janice Randall and I to have dinner together?"
George was small. Always, he refused to give out social advice. "This, I am not permitted to answer," he rumbled.
Jan and I laughed gayly together as we turned to leave. Jan was unobtrusive, but very pretty. Her hair was light brown, her features were fine, her nose turned up, her height reached to the center of my chest. And she had her eyes on a spacewoman's career.
From beside the door a pair of slightly fanatical eyes under a high forehead smirked at us. The jaw was strong; the smile was crooked, humorous, gentle.
"Hi, Cope," I greeted. "What brings you here?"
"This I have to watch, Harver," he answered. "The machine telling the man—already. Screwballs! Where will it end?"
"Who was that?" Jan asked as we were going down stairs.