But Don Denton was not noticing such minor details; he was conscious only of the incredible redness and smoothness of her lips and of the level appraisal of her eyes. He shivered suddenly, vaguely aware that he was unshaven, gangly, with too prominent teeth and ears.
"I have a pass to ride with you," the girl said mockingly. "Do you think you can get around it?" Her tone changed, became suddenly, subtly, frightened and bewildered. "Please," she finished, "I must go with you! I haven't heard from my father in three months; I know that something has happened to him!"
"Well," Don Denton frowned, was suddenly aware of the dim perfume of her hair. "I guess, if you've got a pass, there's nothing I can do but take you along."
"That's fine!" the Skipper said heartily, a trifle relievedly. "I told Miss Palmer you'd probably be glad to give her a lift."
"I knew Mr. Denton wouldn't let me down," the girl said quietly, "I've heard too many stories of his bravery and gallantry."
Don Denton grinned sheepishly, not absolutely certain as to whether the girl was being ironical or not. He searched her face, felt a distinct shock to his nerves when his gaze met with hers.
"Just routine," he countered deprecatingly.
He shrugged, shook hands quickly with the Skipper. "I'll see you in a couple of months. Thanks for bringing the supplies out of your regular lane; it saved me several weeks of spacing to Earth and back."
"That's all right, Denton," the Captain said, "I still remember the fight you put up when those Gillies attacked my ship off—"