"At the ship."
The city was thinning out around them now, and a few stars were visible in the night sky. Quidley watched them thoughtfully for a while. Then: "What ship?" he said.
"The one we're going to Fieu Dayol on."
"Fieu Dayol?"
"Persei 17 to you. I said I was going to take you home to meet my folks, didn't I?"
"In other words, you're kidnapping me."
She shook her head vehemently. "I most certainly am not! Neither according to interstellar law or your own. When you compromised me, you made yourself liable in the eyes of both."
"But why pick on me? There must be plenty of men on Fieu Dayol. Why don't you marry one of them?"
"For two reasons: one, you're the particular man who compromised me. Two, there are not plenty of men on Fieu Dayol. Our race is identical to yours in everything except population-balance between the sexes. At periodic intervals the women on Fieu Dayol so greatly outnumber the men that those of us who are temperamentally and emotionally unfitted to become spinsters have to look for wotnids—or mates—on other worlds. It's quite legal and quite respectable. As a matter of fact, we even have schools specializing in alien cultures to expedite our activities. Our biggest problem is the Interstellar statute forbidding us the use of local communications services and forbidding us to appear in public places. It was devised to facilitate the prosecution of interstellar black marketeers, but we're subject to it, too, and have to contrive communications systems of our own."
"But why were all the messages addressed to you?"