"And of course when they do find out and they ask you why, Mr. Fownes, you'll tell them. No, no heroics, please! When they ask a man a question he always answers and you will too. You'll tell them I wanted to be courted and when they hear that they'll be around to ask me a few questions. You see, we're both a bit queer."
"I hadn't thought of that," Fownes said quietly.
"Oh, it doesn't really matter. I'll join Andrew, Curt, Norman—"
"That won't be necessary," Fownes said with unusual force. "With all due respect to Andrew, Curt, Norman and Alphonse, I might as well state here and now I have other plans for you, Mrs. Deshazaway."
"But my dear Mr. Fownes," she said, leaning across the table. "We're lost, you and I."
"Not if we could leave the dome," Fownes said quietly.
"That's impossible! How?"
In no hurry, now that he had the widow's complete attention, Fownes leaned across the table and whispered: "Fresh air, Mrs. Deshazaway? Space? Miles and miles of space where the real-estate monopoly has no control whatever? Where the wind blows across prairies; or is it the other way around? No matter. How would you like that, Mrs. Deshazaway?"
Breathing somewhat faster than usual, the widow rested her chin on her two hands. "Pray continue," she said.
"Endless vistas of moonlight and roses? April showers, Mrs. Deshazaway. And June, which as you may know follows directly upon April and is supposed to be the month of brides, of marrying. June also lies beyond the dome."