You're right, of course. I am Dolf's twin and I am from Mars.
It took her almost a full second to realise the thoughts had not been spoken. She was telepathic again, aware not only of the newcomer's thoughts but of those of the others in the room—though not as much aware of theirs as of Rolf Marcein's.
She looked at him with something like panic, saw his brilliant dark eyes upon her, noted that he wore his clothes well, that there was something almost lupine in his grace, something almost overpowering....
You must know you're beautiful yourself, Lynne Fenlay—if soft and unawakened. I have an idea I could turn the trick....
It was like a blow. Not only could she read his thoughts, Lynne realised—but he could read hers. She felt her face flame and a sudden surge of resentment toward his arrogance that forced her to leave the room lest she reveal the weakness it caused. And as she left his soft laughter rang like hailstones in her ears.
III
The days that followed Rolf Marcein's arrival at Mother Weedon's became, to Lynne, a period of waiting. It was a period of waiting games as well. No summons came from the eightieth floor of the brain-station to give her a clue as to the nature of her next assignment. For the first time in her life she found herself hung in a vacuum with nothing definite to do or to look forward to.
Naturally she wondered whether Rolf Marcein might not be the answer to this facet of her problem. But not even her growing telepathic abilities could pry a response out of his mind. He seemed to be visiting the home planet on the vaguest sort of business—something to do with development and transport of specially-bred plant and animal stock for the red planet.
It seemed absurd on the face of it that such an obviously able adjustee should be returned to Earth on such a mission, especially with every gram of interplanetary ship-space at a premium. Yet either it was truth or Rolf had developed some method of screening his thoughts against telepathic probing—a frightening idea in itself.