"Hello," Cole said.
She paid no attention.
"Hello!" he said more sharply. "Do you speak Galactic English?"
She looked at him out of empty blue eyes and went back to her work. He went past her gingerly and up to his room. There he wrote a note to Garth Bidgrass, paced and fanned his indignation, tore up the note and wrote a stronger one. When Hawkins brought his dinner, Cole beat down his chattering objections and stuffed the note into the old man's coat pocket.
"See that Bidgrass gets it at once! Do you hear, at once!" he shouted.
After nightfall, nervous and wakeful, Cole looked out on the garden by the pale light of two moons. He saw the girl, wearing the same dress, come out of the opposite wing, and decided on impulse to intercept her.
As he climbed through the library window he said to himself, "Anything may be data to an ecologist, especially if it's pretty to look at."
He met her full face at the house corner and her hands flew up, fending. She turned and he said, "Please don't run away from me. I want to talk to you."
She turned back with eyes wide and troubled, in what nature had meant to be a merry, careless face.