th me," she went on urgently. "I'm not good
enough, am I? I mean, there's something wrong with the way I look or
act. Isn't there? Please help me, please!"

"You're not casual enough, for one thing," said Pembroke, deciding to
play along with her for the moment. "You're too tense. Also you're a bit
knock-kneed, not that it matters. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes, yes--I mean, I suppose so. I can try to be more casual. But I
don't know what to do about my knees," she said wistfully, staring
across at the smooth, tan limbs. "Do you think I'm okay otherwise? I
mean, as a whole I'm not so bad, am I? Oh, please tell me."

"How about talking it over at supper tonight?" Pembroke proposed. "Maybe
with less distraction I'll have a better picture of you--as a whole."

"Oh, that's very generous of you," the woman told him. She scribbled a
name and an address on a small piece of paper and handed it to him. "Any
time after six," she said.

Pembroke left the beach and walked through several small specialty
shops. He tried to get the woman off his mind, but the oddness of her
conversation continued to bother him. She was right about being
different, but it was her concern about being different that made her
so. How to explain _that_ to her?

* * * * *

Then he saw the weird little glass statuette among the usual
bric-a-brac. It rather resembled a ground hog, had seven fingers on each
of its six limbs, and smiled up at him as he stared.

"Can I help you, sir?" a middle-aged saleswoman inquired. "Oh, good
heavens, whatever is that thing doing here?"

Pembroke watched with lifted eyebrows as the clerk whisked the bizarre
statuette underneath the counter.

"What the hell was that?" Pembroke demanded.

"Oh, you know--or don't you? Oh, my," she concluded, "are you one of
the--strangers?"

"And if I were?"

"Well, I'd certainly appreciate it if you'd tell me how I walk."

* * * * *

She came around in front of the counter and strutted back and forth a
few times.

"They tell me I lean too far forward," she confided. "But I should think
you'd fall down if you didn't."

"Don't try to go so fast and you won't fall down," suggested Pembroke.
"You're in too much of a hurry. Also those fake flowers on your blouse
make you look frumpy."

"Well, I'm supposed to look frumpy," the woman retorted. "That's the
type of person I am. But you can look frumpy and sti