Palla, her finger-tips resting lightly on his arm, said laughingly:
"Our youthful and tawny enchantress seemed unusually busy with you
this evening. Has she turned you into anything very disturbing?"

"Would you care?"

"Of course."

"Enough to come to earth and interfere?"

"Good heavens, has it gone as far as that!" she whispered in gay
consternation. "And could I really arrive in time, though breathless?"

He laughed: "You don't need to stir from your niche, sweetness. I
swept your altar once. I'll keep the fire clean."

"You adorable thing--" He felt the faintest pressure of her fingers;
then he heard himself being presented to Questa Terrett.

The frail and somewhat mortuary beauty of this slim poetess, with her
full-lipped profile of an Egyptian temple-girl and her pale, still
eyes, left him guessing--rather guiltily--recollecting his recent but
meaningless disrespect.

"I don't know," she said, "just why you are here. Soldiers are no
novelty. Is somebody in love with you?"

It was a toss-up whether he'd wither or laugh, but the demon of gaiety
won out.

She also smiled.

"I asked you," she added, "because you seem to be quite featureless."

"Oh, I've a few eyes and noses and that sort----"

"I mean psychologically accentless."

"Just plain man?"

"Yes. That is all you are, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid it is," he admitted, quite as much amused as she appeared
to be.

"I see. Some crazy girl here is enamoured of you. Otherwise, you
scarcely belong among modern intellectuals, you know."

At that he laughed outright.

She said: "You really are delightful. You're just a plain, fighting
male, aren't you?"

"Well, I haven't done much fighting----"

"Unimaginative, too! You could have led yourself to believe you had
done a lot," she pointed out. "And maybe you could have interested
me."

"I'm sorry. But suppose you try to interest _me_?"

"Don't I? I've tried."

"Do your best," he encouraged her cheerfully. "You never can be sure
I'm not listening."

At that she laughed: "You nice youth," she said, "if you'd talk that
way to your sweetheart she'd sit up and listen.... Which I'm afraid
she doesn't, so far."

He felt himself flushing, but he refused to wince under her amused
analysis.

"You've simply got to have imagination, you know," she insisted.
"Otherwise, you don't get anywhere at all. Have you read my smears?"

"Smears?"

"Bacteriologists take a smear of something on a glass slid