word struck Lee like a vicious little snake. Was he a
friend, or more than a friend to her? "This is terrible," he thought,
"I've been away from normal life for overlong. Must be that I'm
emotionally unbalanced. I haven't known her for five minutes. There is
nothing between us. I've no earthly right to be jealous; it is absurd,
it's mean."

He felt deeply ashamed. Yet as he looked at her he couldn't deny the
truth before himself: that he _was_ jealous, that he _had_ fallen in
love with a girl who looked like the goddess Diana with a golden helmet
for hair.

There was a noise of footsteps on the gravel paths. A man with a
portfolio under his arm walked briskly by the stonetable; despite his
civilian clothes he had "Westpoint" written all over him. He disappeared
through the steel door.

"That was General Vandergeest", Oona said. "Dr. Scriven will see you
now; just walk in, Dr. Lee."

CHAPTER II

Inside, the cabin in the sky seemed to be built almost entirely around a
huge primeval looking fireplace. Despite the fierceness of the Arizona
sun there was a fire in it of long and bluish flames, one of those
modern inventions which reverse the processes of nature. Like the gas
refrigerators of an older period, this fire worked in combination with
the airconditioning system to _cool_ the house, lending to it in the
midst of summer heat the same attractions which it had in winter.

In front of the fire and framed by its rather ghostly light, there stood
a man with his head bowed down, pensively staring at the flames. As
Lee's steps resounded from the ancient millstones which formed the
floor, Dr. Scriven wheeled around; he approached the man from Down-Under
with outstretched hands.

Rarely had Lee seen such a distinguished looking figure of a man. He
looked more like a diplomat of the extinct old school than a scientist,
with the immaculate expanse of his white tropical suit and the dignity
of his leonine head. His width of shoulder and the smooth agility with
which he moved gave the impression of great strength. Only his fingers
were small, slender, almost like a woman's.

The reluctant softness of their pressure contrasted so much with his
heartiness of manner that Lee felt repulsed by their touch until he
remembered that a great surgeon lived and caused others to live by his
sensitivity of hand.

"Dr. Lee, I'm happy, most happy, that you have been able to come."
Scriven's voice was soft, but he spoke with